How To Make Friends And Take Down Multinational Corporations
by Rogha
Summary: CoffeeShop Au. SoMa. The hipster utopia of Caberallo Street is under threat of the corporate hydra, Starbucks. Who cares if it grows two more heads when they cut off this one, as long as they grow somewhere else? Can a ragtag group of saavy small business owners, not entirely above lawbreaking, bring the beast to it's knees or at least chase it out of their neck of the woods?
1. Snickers

**I guess this is my resbang? I mean for all you know it could be someone else's and you can't prove that, but it's for sure not** **Atsushi Okubo's. There's a sniff of a plot here, but to be candid, this is for sure a more 'slice of life' or maybe 'entire cake of life' type fic. Actually I've googled slice of life and Wikipedia has made it seem very unappealing.**

 **Thanks so, so much to my baeta spooks and my art buddy thebeesnhis and everyone who put up with my nonsense which was probably most of you and the mods and whoever it was that mentioned me in passing once when someone was looking for a coffee shop au because you made sure I couldn't back out you sly fox. also the effervescent mods, as always.**

 **Anyway, to those that celebrate and those that don't (for I am a cranky catholic set in my ways) Happy Christmas.**

* * *

 **Chapter One: Snickers**

It was a nice day, objectively speaking. The sun was shining, there was actually sort of a breeze and the air was cool enough that Soul could have an outside display that isn't cacti like his window boxes.

Soul was dealing with a customer, the kind of harried looking businessman who'd forgotten an anniversary or some other significant event. He was bald, and his head gleamed in the light. He did not know his significant other's favourite flowers by name. "The red ones?" "Roses?" "No!" It was only after Soul had named every red flower he kept in his daily stock that he suggested poppies.

"Yes!"

"I don't stock poppies."

"What do you mean you don't stock poppies? What kind of florist are you?"

Soul was about to launch into a well-rehearsed spiel about how, although he loved poppies, neither he nor any other florist in the continental US, or even the world, could stock poppies, because they wilted nearly as soon as they were cut. They were best left to being wildflowers. Or being pressed really quickly, if one was into that.

Soul tried not to sigh and suggested some sunflowers instead. Everyone loved sunflowers. They were bright, yellow, and fun, and after they wilted you could hang them outside your window to use as a bird feeder.

"Sunflowers? Are you sure he'll like those?"

"Do you have any other suggestions?" Soul asked. "Or can you tell me his favourite colour?"

"He likes green," the business man broke out into a small smile. "He wore it on our wedding day."

"Okay, I'll put something together."

Soul pulled a card out of the jar beside the till and handed it to the man, along with the nice pen he kept chained to the desk. It was actually really easy to get the pen off the chain, but no one had ever wanted the pen enough to try. "Write something heartfelt."

Soul headed out the open back door into the tunnel. He'd offered to bring the stubborn man out there to have a look around, but the man had declined. Soul have a few pre-made bouquets on hand for customers, and he had a whole selection of potted plants for sale too, but none of those had been to the man's taste.

Soul loved his job, despite the fact that his face was a permanent scowl, and this was his favourite part; cut some sunflowers, some ferns and nice grasses, shuffle them around in a bundle until it looks good, think about it for a minute, add some daisies, carefully cut a few delphiniums and thistles, stick those in the mix and boom. That was a beautiful bouquet right there. A goddamn work of art. He put it in a plastic vase as a placeholder.

He returned to the counter with the bouquet and cut a few sheets of the cellophane before jamming them into the handpainted pot his nephew Joel made for him in art class last year, then carefully filling the hollow in the cellophane with water. He gently transferred the bouquet to the water, and folded the cellophane up over it before tying it with a blue ribbon and curling the ends with his favourite sharp, dangerous looking scissors.

Soul taped a small packet of liquid plant food and accompanying instructions to the plastic before working out the price. He had found school hard, with the exception of maths, which made you smart. Kind of.

The equation Soul used for pricing flowers looked like this.

2(WHOLESALE PRICE OF FLOWERS+WHOLESALE PRICE OF FLOWERS(0.15))+2(WHOLESALE PRICE OF RIBBON+WHOLESALE PRICE OF CELLOPHANE+WHOLESALE PRICE OF CARD+WHOLESALE PRICE OF PLANT FOOD)+0.25[2(WHOLESALE PRICE OF FLOWERS+WHOLESALE PRICE OF FLOWERS(0.15))+2(WHOLESALE PRICE OF RIBBON+WHOLESALE PRICE OF CELLOPHANE+WHOLESALE PRICE OF CARD+WHOLESALE PRICE OF PLANT FOOD)]+ TAX 6.85% = PRICE

He didn't add his standard delivery charge for customers within the Death Valley city limits, because the man might decide that he was in the mood for giving it to his husband himself. Soul also didn't really like to do deliveries. He probably should have hired someone to drive the van and deliver flowers - he was making enough to hire. He'd post an ad in the paper next week.

Would they be hanging around the shop then? Because, no offense to people, but Soul didn't really go in for that sort of thing if he could help it. People are great and all, but he'd just… rather not deal with them on a personal level. He liked to keep it nice and professional. But what was he supposed to do? Maybe he could get one of those people who'd be on their smartphone until he told them to run out on a delivery. How do you advertise for that kind of person?

Soul took the fifty dollar bill from the man, opened the register, handed the man his change, and slotted the card into place. The bald man appeared to be delighted with the bouquet. He held it up, looked at it, and twirled it around to capture it from all angles. He inhaled the scent deeply, smiling softly at some memory or another, before drifting out the door. He was gone, caught in the soft May breeze, before Soul could remembered to tell him to have a nice day or that he hoped that his husband would like the bouquet.

Soul hoped that wouldn't result in a bad review on Yelp, the lifeblood of local businesses. His rating was still suffering from the woman who gave him zero stars last year because she thought he looked "terrifying and highly unprofessional".

Soul needed a coffee. Soul nearly always wanted a coffee, but the memory of that bratty woman and her flashing gold teeth had pushed him over the line from 'want' to 'need'.

Soul had a too-expensive coffee machine in his apartment upstairs, but it was so covered in dust he wasn't sure it was safe to use without a thorough cleaning first. He wasn't in the mood for that today. He would probably never be in the mood for that as long as he could afford to drop seven dollars on a cup of coffee everyday.

He tucked his wallet into his apron – it had been his grandma's and made of some kind of faded floral canvas. It always gathered a few looks whenever he wore it, so he took his wallet back out of the pockets designed for gardening tools and untied the apron. He hung the little sign - the one that implied he'd be back soon and that he was probably in the coffee shop if you were having a floral emergency - on the door and locked it.

He took a moment to hope that no opportunistic little fucks would steal one of the potted plants from the outside display-seriously what was wrong with people- because he didn't feel too much like dragging the thing indoors, and as was customary, nearly brained himself on the hanging basket nest to the door. He should really have gotten rid of that thing because the only plant life that could survive the extended amount of time outside in Death City, Nevada without withering to a crispy mockery of what they once were was cacti. Like his window boxes, the cacti in the hanging basket both looked ridiculous and were difficult to repot when they grew too large.

Star Tattoo was right next to his florist's, and that was where Black Star worked, with that Harvar guy. Black Star was Soul's 'best bro'. Soul supposed that was as much of a friend as anything- someone who'd wormed their way so deep into your life that you couldn't get rid of them without losing an arm or something. Also Black Star would never be able to comprehend the very idea of someone not wanting to be his friend.

So, they played basketball whenever Soul judged it safe to close the shop on a Sunday, them and the guy who owned the comic shop. Soul didn't really like him too much, and he didn't know his name either. It was a really awkward 'two years have passed since I started hanging out with you regularly and it is definitely too late to ask' type of situation. But sometimes Killik, the guy who ran the record store over the comic shop, came too- not as often as the others would like- but he was pretty cool and had a hell of a three-pointer arm. Killik had a set of twins who were still just little kids. Soul saw the pair of them in Dragon Records a lot, and he found the fact that they liked to follow him around while he browsed the selection leisurely both endearing, and terrifying.

The tattoo shop was an explosion of colour, covered in freehand graffiti. It was probably considered a mural if it was your own building that you'd defaced, and Soul wasn't going to call Black Star out one where the design had bled over to his wall. It had Black Star's enormous tag across the whole front, and Soul thought it was pretty cool, if incredibly egotistical. Eighty percent of Black Star was ego. Soul admired that kind of boundless, almost entirely baseless, confidence so that idiot was the one who had designed his sleeves. The door was wedged open, caught on a familiar lump in the uneven flooring.

Through the gap in the door, Soul could see a flash of golden hair. He tried not to linger outside, because getting spotted by Star meant having some kind of bro pun yelled at him. Hanging out with Star was fun and all, but you needed to be both mentally and physically prepared. He liked some notice before attempting it. Unless you were Tsubaki, the baker who manned the counter in Get Baked down on the even side of the road. She had a long dark ponytail and infinite patience for Black Star's antics.

Well, Black Star had had a thing for her ever since he had first tasted her fresh churros, so he did act a little different around her. A little less 'fight me' and lot more 'I will fight anyone you tell me to'. That baker could totally hold her own though, seeing as she got her start selling the best pot brownies and other baked goods money could buy. Soul had bought from her before, back when he was still a music major and she still sold laced brownies and honestly those brownies hadn't even need any pot they were so damn delicious.

She'd been shrewd even then, selling both the brownies and, once you were stoned, over-priced baked goods for the munchies.

Soul couldn't blame Black Star for being in something close to love with her, he was probably a little bit in love with her himself. Soul doubted that anyone could encounter Tsu and not fall a little bit in love, especially after trying a slice of her toffee apple cake- _I Put A Spell On You_. She was gentler than soft summer breeze and sweeter than Halloween.

All the buildings on Caberallo Street used to be residential, a long time ago. Some of them still had apartments attached, like Soul's, but not many. For most of them, the shop either extended into the upper story, or the upper floor was leased to a second business, like Dragon Records and Oxford Commics.

Number Seven, the building after Star Tattoo, was empty. The only other vacant building on the street was the one across from the coffee place. Wes bought it up just after Soul started the florist, declaring it to be prime real estate. So far, it seemed more like a miss rather than a hit, but Wes claimed he was withholding it from the market until it increased in value. Sounded like bullshit to Soul, but it was Wes's money, and therefore none of his business.

Number Seven used to be a boutique, if Soul's best guess at the few remaining, peeling letters was right. It'd been vacant since before Soul had opened his shop, and by the looks of it, long before. Soul'd been in operation for just about six years now, since it was just him and the coffee shop and a whole lot of vacant lots, but street was crowded and cheery now, foot traffic at an all-time high, business was booming and the cost of rent, or buying a premises had risen since those early, barely scraping by days. The sign affixed to the grubby glass door of Number Seven, the one proclaiming it for lease, was gone; so either the tape had finally called it quits and it had fallen, or the place was rented.

After Number Seven was Deathbucks, which was the best coffee shop in the city, and Soul's destination. Deathbucks was cool. Instead of a large glass shopfront window there was a tight row of tall, narrow, wooden window frames that arched to a point at the top and the negative space between the points was filled with stained glass circles. The door was covered with chalkboard paint, and the staff wrote the daily specials on it and drew pictures that looked like they were done by a seven year old child.

Inside, there was a collection of comfy mismatched chairs and spotty wifi and high bar stools you could sit on to look out onto the street and people-watch the hipsters that frequented the shops of Caberallo Street. The plaster had been cracked off the walls, exposing the red brickwork underneath, and the décor consisted mostly of broken, spotted antique mirrors that had to be a health and safety hazard. Upstairs there was a little platform for Slam Poetry night and whatever else it was that happened in hipster coffee houses. At the bar, there was a selection of freshly made pastries and goodies, all from Tsubaki's bakery.

Soul tried to regulate his daily coffee fix to a time when he would encounter a minimum number of people. The shop was pretty empty at the minute, excluding the man that always wore a suit- he never left before closing time. He was typing loudly on his typewriter like the next Quentin Tarantino. Patti and Liz, the owners, affectionately called him 'Kiddo'. Patti was manning the counter today, along with the other three baristas that worked there. Liz rarely did front of house anymore, because she was too busy doing all the accounting and stock-taking and business running she used to do at three A.M.

Soul kind of missed seeing Liz around, although sometimes he did run into her in the record shop. He'd met her in a bar once too, but they'd mutually agreed that that much sharing and _anything else that had allegedly happened_ had never happened and would never happen ever again, under pain of death. He didn't know how to ask for her number so they could just hang out without it seeming like he was _asking for her number_ because Liz was intimidatingly attractive, like the femme fatale in a Bond movie.

Patti looked up when she saw him, and smiled. Soul was her favourite customer, apart from Mr. Remington over there.

Mostly because Soul's usual order was 'just fuck me up' and that meant that Patti got to make the kind of drinks always she wanted to make, the ones that nobody but Soul ever wanted to attempt drinking. She busied herself making something with enough caffeine to kill a horse. Soul didn't know the names of the other baristas, and that was entirely because Patti practically vaulted over them in order to make his coffee, but there was the one who wore the cute frilly maid apron; the one with the expensive Cath Kidston print apron; and the one who normally folded down one of Liz's wine mom aprons into a half apron. That girl didn't have her head screwed on right, but apparently she was a valuable team member who could make coffee in her sleep.

Patti's aprons were all some kind of giraffe motif. He didn't know if it was a running joke or if she collected them, but she had at least fifteen of them. A writer like 'Kiddo' over there might've described her as having a sunny, childlike exuberance.

She handed Soul his regular coffee and he gave her ten dollars. Patti fumbled with the change, and he put half of what she gave him into the large empty mason jar labelled tips. They had a system. A system that confused the other patrons of the coffee house, who were required to pay upfront, but a system none-the-less. The coffee tasted like a Snickers bar, plus more espresso shots than Soul wanted to think about. But it was good and boasted a tower of physics defying whipped cream.

"I like this one," he instagrammed the cup – you could see Patti's broad smile in the background of the filtered, square photo.

He checked his watch, and decided that he could run down to one of his favourite shops; At Knit's End and regret spending so much time with his Gram when he was younger but maybe they'd have some more alpaca in stock and he could wonder how the fuck a wool shop in Death City, Nevada was doing so well. He was a little old lady, he couldn't help it. Maybe he was possessed by his grandmother? Not the one who believed in corporal punishment and that God had sent Hurricane Katrina 'because of the gays' - she wasn't going anywhere and she was pushing for octogenarian status next year - but Gram, the one who'd bought his love with barley sugars and Werther's Originals, and had died when he was twenty-three.

He trekked all the way to the end of the street, sipping his scalding coffee. At Knit's End stocked embroidery and quilting supplies as well as yarn, but it was the high, well stocked shelves of soft, brightly coloured wool that drew Soul into this shop every damn time.

At Knit's End had a peeling, faded shopfront, with small paned windows and difficult to read lettering. After months of trial and error, Soul had established that it read Deihl's Apothecary. Soul knew that was old timey speak for pharmacist, but he didn't know why the only thing they appeared to have changed about the external appearance of the shop was the swing sign that announced them to be the home craft supply shop Soul knew and loved.

The angry pink haired capitalist was manning the register today. Good. Her strait-laced girlfriend would cough loudly and glare at him if he dared enter here with his cup of coffee. He was an adult with a healthy appreciation for yarn, he wasn't going to spill it. The pink haired woman didn't know anything about any kind of crafting, unless you counted witchcraft. He thought that it was all bullshit, but he'd still rather not get on her bad side and die or something. That'd be uncool.

She was reading one of the _This Was The End_ books, and she didn't look up when Soul came in. Well, it was either that or she was reading something wearing the fourth instalment's dust jacket. Soul wasn't a big reader but when HBO had begun adapting Archimedes Reaper's series for television, he'd started listening to the audiobooks at his nephew's insistence. They were pretty intense.

At Knit's End didn't have any new alpaca in, but they did have that cool hand-dyed gradient wool that made bitchin' lace shawls. Soul didn't have any use for a rainbow coloured shawl, but something reasonable as that wasn't going to stop him picking up a ball of it anyway, and then because the deep red 400g Aran balls were on offer, he grabbed enough of those to make a nice jumper. Maybe something with cables for the winter?

He breezed past the needles with some pride in his self-control – god and his entire family knew he had enough of them – and dumped his purchases on the counter. Her choppy pink hair was poking out of her watermelon beanie and she snapped her gum while she rang up the purchase. She looked like she was working up to asking him something, and she packed the wool into the brown paper bags slowly while she thought.

"You're the florist, right? The one in Number Three?" She said, crumpling the ends of the bags together in a way that might've been rolling, if you were generous.

"That's me."

"Do you, do like, weddings and shit?"

Soul had done exactly one wedding and it had been his brother's. His Gran(not the nice one, the other one) had tried to make his cousin use him for her wedding, but the highly recommended, expensive wedding planner had his own people. Also Rosanna was definitely a Bridezilla, so he'd probably dodged a bullet there. A whole lot of bullets, seeing as her husband was linked the mob. Distantly linked, and allegedly reformed, but still.

"Yeah. I mean. Sometimes."

"Yeah, well, Jackie agreed to, you know, marry me and shit, so…" She was trying to play it cool, like she wasn't over the moon. Soul could see the pink flush spreading across her cheeks and the smile poking at the corners of her mouth and the actual twinkle in her eyes. "You up for it?"

"Up for…? Your wedding?"

"Don't make me change my mind," she said, still holding his precious wool hostage. He wasn't going to get them unless he agreed to do her and the strait-laced girl –Jackie-'s wedding, was he? He needed to weigh his options carefully. People who were as active on Pinterest and Instagram as millennial crafters were high risk for 'fairytale dream wedding ideals' syndrome. But that shade of deep red was beautiful, and she might curse him if he didn't...

"Yeah, that'd be cool, just call into the shop during the week and we can start working things out if you want," Soul shrugged, taking his purchase as it was finally offered to him. He clutched it to his chest. "Do you have a wedding planner or anything yet?"

"No, stupid, she only said yes last night."

"You should probably, uh, get one of those, but, yeah, stop by the shop whenever you guys, y'know, do that," Soul started to leave. "Planners normally have their own people, though."

"Yeah, but you're like our number one customer- " that's how they were staying open "-Aren't you going to congratulate me, you idiot?"

"Oh. Right. Great job," he paused, "On the whole engagement thing."

She sighed loudly. "What's your name anyway?"

"Soul, uh, Evans."

"I'm Kim Diehl," she grinned for the first time since he's known her in his extensive patronage of the shop, "I'm getting married, Soul, to the love of my life, and it better be the best goddamn day of my life."

"That's the plan," Soul said, eager not to draw the resident witch's ire. "I have to go somewhere. Else. Not here. Back to the shop. My one."

She rolled her eyes and went back to her book, trusting him to have learned where the exit was by now.

He headed back to the shop, and Number Seven seemed to have some life in it. The door was open and he could hear the drone of a vacuum as someone tried to clear away the years of accumulated dust. There was a pile of junk the previous occupants had left behind, heaped on the curb in boxes to be collected. There was a big old terracotta pot that looked like an ugly man yelling profanities. Soul checked it for damage, but apart from a thick layer of dust it was in perfect condition, despite being the ugliest thing he'd ever laid eyes on. Anyway, he wasn't one to let a perfectly good pot get thrown away, so he put the brown paper bags of wool with his coffee wedged carefully in between inside the clay pot and picked it up.

The yellowed layers of posters hadn't yet been torn away from the shop front window, but he could hear the bright laugh of the new occupant. It made him smile like an idiot in the middle of the street, holding the pilfered plant pot. That was a laugh that caught you and made you grin along with the joke, no matter how terrible or unknown it was.

Soul realized he'd been slowing down to a snail's crawl to try and find out more about his new neighbour, and picked up the pace. He chanced one more glance inside the door that'd been propped open with a heavy stack of old yellow pages. All he could see was a stack of cleaning supplies, ready to be called into action to tackle the years of grime.

He hurried back to the shop, in case they'd seen him taking the pot. He was forced to put it down in order unlock the door to the shop to let a woman who was jogging a toddler on her hip in. She frowned at him before breezing ahead into the shop.

Soul rolled his eyes at her back, before plastering his 'happy to help' face on.

He put the pot behind the counter while the woman turned a critical eye onto the pre-made bouquets. His shirt was filthy, streaked with transferred dust and grime, but there wasn't anything he could do about that right now, so he re-tied his apron over it to hide the worst of the staining. He washed his grimy hands quickly, shaking the water off to reach a suitable state of damp. Soul extracted his miraculously unspilled coffee from its woollen nest inside the terracotta head, and took a long draught, hoping that it would keep him going through the exchange.

"Excuse me," she shifted her weight. "Is this all your stock?"

"No," Soul said. "I can make up a fresh bouquet if you'd like."

"That's not necessary," she waved her hand, ignoring her son's chubby hands tugging at her hair. "What you have here will just have to do, won't it Kyle?"

She didn't even fucking buy anything.

 **Please R &R. **


	2. Orange Whiskey Marmalade

**Chapter Two: Orange Whiskey Marmalade**

A few days later, Soul was on his way to Deathbucks with for an 11AM-ish coffee. He found himself wondering if Patti even knew his name, it wasn't like he had a name tag or anything. He should probably get a name tag. She hadn't asked for it since learning that the scary looking dude with the white hair and the red eyes and the stuff-of-nightmares teeth liked his coffee with enough caffeine to fuel a platoon of overworked nurses and _extravagant_. She never called out his name anymore, just shoved the beverage in his hand and eagerly awaited his opinion on her creation of the day. Soul tried to limit himself to just one of Patti's coffees a day. He considered himself young, reckless and a little dangerous, but it wasn't cool to die of a caffeine induced heart attack before you were thirty-five.

The posters that had covered the window of Number Seven were gone, and the newly cleaned glass sparkled. Judging by the brightly coloured paint swatches, it was to let in the natural light more than anything else. The swatches were all warm shades of dark red, and he was pretty sure one of them was the exact deep red of the Aran he'd cast on his needles the other night. Each bright streak of colour was labelled so clearly that Soul was able to read the pencil numerals from where he was standing.

Inside the shop, arguing about shades of red that Soul suspected all looked similar enough to not make any discernible difference in the long run, were Black Star and the flash of blonde hair from the other day. He pulled one earbud out, Black Star's very loud, familiar 'I am right' voice was already drowning out his music anyway. Soul paid for Spotify, he didn't have time for this.

With the yellowed papers gone, he could clearly see that that the blonde hair was attached to a lithely muscled woman who looked more than ready to throw the paint sampler in her hand at Black Star. It bounced of Black's Star's head a second later. He didn't seem fazed by the projectile in the slightest. She was dressed in the clothes you kept wrapped in a plastic bag in the back of your wardrobe, the ones splattered with paint you trotted out every time you paint something for your entire life. There was a big sky blue handprint right on the ass. Considering the fact that they were only doing swatches, it seemed like an excessively cautious measure.

Through the clean uncovered window, Soul could see a paint-splattered radio with a fork in place of an antenna on the scarred wooden counter in desperate need of a scrub down and a fresh layer of varnish, and a number of cats that were lazing in the sunny patches on the plastic sheeting that protected the original hardwood floors, flicking their tails in irritation at the pair's yelling. Soul could sympathize.

He tapped on the window, feeling mildly guilty because it'd finally been made squeaky clean after years of neglect. The tiny smear he'd left stood out like a sore thumb in the centre of the pristine window. The pair of them looked up, and Black Star elbowed the woman in the ribs and said "that's the guy I was telling you about!" in a 'hushed tone' that was in no way as quiet as he thought. Soul hoped her ribs were okay, he'd been on the receiving end of Star's enthusiastic 'look at that!' every time something caught his eye and it was not nearly as fun for you at it was for him.

Soul squinted at the streaks of colour, and then held up four fingers. Black Star looked confused, but the blonde yelled that she had told him so. It was the same as the wool he brought, a shade of red to which Soul was particularly partial.

"Thanks!" she smiled brightly and waved at him, her fingers wriggling. Her eyes were green. Really, really green. They were far and away too green to look at, so Soul glanced down. His bootlace had come undone. He knelt quietly, tightly re-knotting it. The only thing less cool than death by caffeine overdose was death by untied lace related accident.

"You're welcome," he muttered, much too quietly to be heard through the glass. He figured that if he could bring himself to look up, he'd be able to find the exact colour of his cheeks among the swatches on the wall. He could hear Black Star's best attempt at whispering, which was loud enough that Soul knew they were talking about him, but quiet enough that he didn't know if the conversation painted him in a positive light.

By the time he thought that _they can't really be that green nothing could ever be that shade of green naturally in this sun-baked brown state_ and looked up again, the blonde was starting to mask off the skirting board. She glanced up at Black Star and told him something, wearing an expression that brooked no disagreement. Black Star headed outside, but not before sticking out his tongue at her petulantly and scowling.

He grinned when he saw Soul like he hadn't seen him in weeks, even though he'd known that Soul was there.

"Bro," Black Star held out his fist, which Soul dutifully bumped, "I've told you about Maka, right?"

Soul shook his head, wracking his brain to try recall if Black Star had ever mentioned her to him before. He didn't believe he'd ever forget. She didn't look like someone you'd forget in a hurry, even if she'd only been mentioned in passing. Not with eyes that green.

"Never? Tiny tits? Fat Ankles? Pigtails?" Black Star suggested, "Ring a bell?"

Those did. Black Star had been complaining with a degree of fondness about this girl for years. Soul may have been his best bro, but he was somehow still coming second to that girl in terms of bro-dom. She was his sister from another mister. (Or maybe his sister from the same mister? Soul wasn't too sure on the details.) A hyper-bro. Soul was Black Star's best bro, but Maka was his 'best friend 5eva(it's longer than forever)'. She was like the mega-evolution of Soul.

"I have to go get the tin of paint for her, I said I'd help her get set up," Black Star shrugged, like using his precious holidays to help a childhood friend/maybe sibling paint the walls of her shop was no big deal. "She needs me, on account of the fact I'm already a great business man!"

Soul knew that while Black Star was the talent, he was by no means the brains of the operation at Star Tattoo. Soul was pretty sure Star was 'Instagram Famous', whatever that meant. He'd been on that Tattoo Fixers programme once, before he struck it out on his own and opened Star Tattoo. Soul, personally, liked to Instagram his coffee, arrangements he was particularly proud of and his knitting projects. He wasn't actively trying to catfish anyone, but he can't deny that it's happened. Black Star on the other hand, liked to Instagram his work and boast about how he was the greatest tattoo artist to ever live. Black Star would never catfish anyone, as that would require 'pretending to be a mere mortal' apparently.

Soul didn't know enough about tattoo artistry or deities to prove him wrong, nor did he particularly want to. Black Star's self professed godly status was a comforting sort of existentialism- _no one is paying attention to you, they are too busy trying to ignore the loud mouth with the blue hair to notice you fucking up_.

"Anyway, see you Sunday?" Black Star said. "Ready to get crushed on the courts?"

"I'll be there, but I won't be the one getting crushed."

Black Star snorted like beating him was an impossible fantasy of Soul's, which it really wasn't, mostly because Black Star insisted he could take them all and, as it turned out, couldn't. Soul thought he was really more into Mixed Martial Arts and Call of Duty. Black Star punched Soul's arm, deadening it in a display of friendship, before leaving to get the paint.

Soul decided that it was high time that he grew the fuck up and introduced himself properly to Black Star's original best bro, but he definitely couldn't socialize without coffee, and maybe some prepared flashcards.

He headed straight for Deathbucks, dodging around someone in a suit eyeballing the vacant shop across from it. Soul hoped that they were a tailor. This street could use a good tailor. But people have eyed it up before and nothing had ever come of it. He wasn't going to get his hopes up this time, only to have his bespoke dreams dashed before his very eyes. He'd been hurt too many times before.

A bell jingled as he pushed in the chalkboard door and he wondered if he could get Patti to add a little liquid courage to his coffee today. He was sure they weren't above that in this establishment. She must have been expecting him because the coffee was halfway done by the time he arrived at the bar. She winked at him, tipping a final ingredient into his drink.

Today, his coffee tasted like orange marmalade. Orange whiskey marmalade. It wasn't his favourite of Patti's creations, but it was top heavy with caffeine (and possibly alcoholic) and therefore, very, very good in Soul's humble opinion.

"Is there whiskey in this?"

"No."

Soul squinted, trying to discern whether or not she was lying. It was impossible to tell, but the innocent look on her face seemed more like evidence to the contrary. He sighed. He was never going to figure it out, so he'd better pray his alcohol tolerance was up to snuff. It didn't tast like there was much alcohol in her, but it could be masked by the strong flavours of dark roast and orange zest.

He was just about to leave, having photographed his coffee to upload later as it appeared to be a 'bad Wifi day', when he remembered that he came in here for something else, and wheeled around, rather unexpectedly.

Patti looked concerned at this out of character behaviour, like maybe she'd finally poisoned him.

"Hey, can I get a gift card?" the one in the frilly apron nodded. He squinted at her name tag, but her handwriting was a mess. Tsuyuni? Tsujami? He had settled on Tsuquni, when Patti said "Tsugumi, make sure to speak up, not everyone can see nodding!" and he supposed that settled the matter of her name.

"Oh, hi! Sure! You come in here a lot," she said, smiling. " Wait no, I mean, how much do you want this for?"

"Ten dollars?" that was one of Soul's coffees, maybe two for a normal coffee drinker? He squinted at the board above the coffee prep line, but it hasn't been rewritten in a while, and the chalk was smudged and faded. The lines of text weren't very straight to begin with, and he can't imagine it would be easy for anyone to follow them now that they blended together.

"You know we have loyalty cards, right?"

"No," he said, looking at someone else entirely. Patti looked so innocent, like she hadn't been cheating him out of whatever benefits he might have been getting this entire time. There was definitely alcohol in his coffee. She was too good at that look, too practised. He could hear the unspoken _who, me?_ laden with coquettish charm.

"Oh," Tsugumi frowned. "Do you want one?"

He nodded, digging in his pocket for the wallet he had literally thirty seconds ago. He handed over the cash and tucked the gift voucher and loyalty card into his wallet, but not before taking a second to flip the card open to see how many stamps he needed in order to reap the sweet rewards of brand loyalty.

"Hey, um, Patti?"

She looked surprised. Beyond Soul's short daily critique of her caffeinated creations, they didn't normally talk. She also looked worried, like he was about to confront her about the whole loyalty card thing. Make no mistake, he could have been getting a free coffee every fifteen days and he was royally pissed about that. He was going to work out how much money he'd have saved in the literal years he'd been going here when he got back to the shop.

"Do you know my name?" Soul asked, feeling stupid.

"Of course I do!" Patti grinned, "Why on Earth wouldn't I know your name, Soulie?"

"You never use it, that's all," Soul said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"A love like ours needs no words."

He spat all over her, spraying her with orange whiskey marmalade flavoured coffee. Soul was about to start apologizing profusely to the stunned woman when the man who always sat in the corner, typing on his vintage typewriter, got up. He was taller than Soul expected, but not as tall as Soul himself.

Soul'd never been in a fight in his life but he could probably take this guy. He was built like a pencil and had the complexion of skim milk. He'd never really grown out of his scene kid phase, if the three white stripes bleached into his dark hair were to be taken as evidence. Soul could take him out, no contest. Soul could snap that pencil like a twig. For sure. Definitely. He could do it. He was going to punch that skinny guy. Right… Now. Now. Now?

Maybe Mr. Well-Fitted Suit was just going to the bathroom? Hopefully he was just going to the bathroom. Soul didn't want to, y'know, hurt the poor guy. Yeah. He didn't want to hurt him. That was it.

They were never going to let him back in here if he started a fight with their favourite customer. Any time Soul had come here in the evening, there was a precisely aligned row of empty cups on the table.

He wasn't going to the bathroom. He was heading right to Soul and he had this scary 'I could kill you without remorse and go right back to my pretentious vintage typewriting budding director lifestyle' in his eyes. Soul read somewhere in an interview that if Quentin Tarantino wasn't a filmmaker he'd be a serial killer, so he was hoping this guy was more of a Wes Anderson on the inside than anyone else.

Whatever. Soul could take him. For sure. No question about it, Soul would pummel this guy, yes siree. A hundred percent knock-out.

'Kiddo' pulled a neatly folded, impeccable handkerchief out of the inside of his suit jacket – Soul'd never seen him in anything but black suits, did the guy know the meaning of the phrase casual attire? – and flicked it, the sharply starched corners fanning out and separating. Patti snatched the offered cloth and used it to scrub the coffee off her face, and Soul could see the monogram A.R. embroidered on the crisp fabric.

Soul decided that sooner, rather than later was time to start spluttering out apologies because he had only seen Patti angry once before and he was eager not to repeat the event. She was absolutely terrifying and he suspected that her and Liz were extremely private about their past in Brooklyn for reasons that, maybe, possibly, probably involved gangs. That was also somewhere on his list of ways he didn't want to die.

"I'm so sorry! It was an accident, are you okay?" Soul flailed around before grabbing a wodge of napkins to absorb the specks of coffee that he'd gotten on the front of the display. This could be termed as a disaster. Should he bolt? He was feeling the urge to bolt and find a new coffee shop.

But the only other options were Starbucks, and Soul's local business aesthetic meant that going into large corporate franchises caused him almost physical pain. Death City's only other independent coffeehouse Rumba Joe's closed down six months ago when a Starbucks moved around the corner from it. He'd have to clean up his coffee machine and make his own. He shuddered at the thought.

Patti started laughing loudly from her belly, and Soul used what his mother described as a 'gentleman's education' to refrain from chuckling at the fact that Patti has a slight tendency to snort when she laughed, something he had learned just that second. The 'gentleman's education' didn't stop him from smiling, through.

What did stop him from smiling was the look on Mr. A.R.'s face. His eyes were colder than the pizza that'd been frozen to the shelf of the freezer since Soul had moved in to his apartment. Soul could take him. He could do it. He could snap him like a- A.R. stuck out his hand.

His hand was smooth and dry, not at all clammy like Soul had expected. It was super soft too, like this guy carried hand lotion around and applied it regularly.

"Soul Evans," he introduced himself, like an adult who hadn't been contemplating punching another adult. He had to keep the element of surprise. "I own the florist's down the road."

"Is that going well for you?" A.R. asked, dodging the social nicety that required him to offer his own name. "Much business?"

"I'm doing alright," Soul shrugged. A.R. seemed even less eager than Soul to be having this conversation. He fumbled for another conversation topic, Patti was looking back and forth between them like she was anticipating something interesting. "How's your writing going?"

He didn't answer, and Soul took another swig of his cooling coffee in a vain attempt to dispel the awkwardness of his silence. Patti leaned over the counter eagerly, her short blonde hair slipping out of her ponytail.

"Oh, Soulie, didn't you know?" Patti grinned, like she relished offering up this information, "Our Kiddo here is really Archimedes Reaper, the author of the _This Is The End_ series."

For the second time in ten minutes, Soul spat orange whiskey marmalade flavoured coffee all over someone.

* * *

It was evening, the sun was still hanging high in the May sky, the florist's was closed and Soul had a bouquet of 'Welcome to the Neighbourhood' flowers in his hand. It was a nice bouquet, he was getting new stock in tomorrow, so the variety was strange but not wholly unpleasant. There were a handful of yellow roses, small white yarrow flowers and a few red cannas mixed in as an accent colour, nestled in large mullein leaves. He wasn't expecting the newly arrived proprietor to have something vase-like in quality in her still bare shop, so he'd arranged the flowers in one of the cheap plastic vases he sometimes-but-almost-never used. They were lightweight and easily knocked over, especially if you had cats that loved to pull such stunts.

Soul still hadn't gotten over the Archimedes Reaper thing. He wasn't sure he ever would. Like everyone else, he'd been assuming that ridiculous collection of letters was a pseudonym. The digital audiobooks he had didn't have a photo of that skinny 'Kiddo' from the coffee shop. They didn't have a photo of anyone, not even Tim Curry, who'd read them. He'd put the revelation on the back burner while he'd worked, but it was starting to sink in that he'd spewed coffee all over a New York Times Bestselling Author. He might've had a Pulitzer too.

Soul tried not to think about that too much.

Would it be cool to ask him if he'd sign something? Joel'd lose his shit if Soul brought him a signed copy of one of the _This Was The End_ books. He'd have to smuggle it to his nephew though; Wes wasn't cool with his ten year old son reading about sex, violence and political intrigue, even if it was wrapped up in the most kickass sci-fi setting since _Star Wars_.

He put the gift voucher to Deathbucks onto one of the card spikes and headed out, locking the door behind him. He had to start work on the corsages tomorrow; the district high school's prom was on Thursday. Prom was his least favourite day of the year.

He paused outside Maka's door, through the glass, he could see Black Star and Maka dancing to a song on the radio. It was a catchy pop song, one that Soul would only consent to recognising under extreme duress. Their clothes and skin were smeared with deep ruby coloured paint and they looked like they were having fun. Soul hated dancing, but it didn't look so bad for once.

Soul didn't really want to interrupt, but then Star turned around and waved manically, signalling him to enter the shop. He pushed the door open, and a dolphin wind chime drew even more attention to him.

Inside, it smelled like paint and cats rubbed against his ankles indiscriminately. He waded through the purring mass of them and held the bouquet out to Maka, avoiding eye contact with those too green eyes.

"This is beautiful!" She smiled, inhaling deeply. "Oh and there's a card!"

Soul probably should've written something on the dotted line intended for that exact purpose, but he couldn't do anything about that now. Hopefully ten dollars' worth of coffee spoke louder than words.

"Thank you so much! These guys make the best sweet tea I've ever had!" she looked like a ten dollar coffeehouse voucher was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She tucked it carefully into the pocket of her paint splattered shorts and patted it, just to make sure it was safe. "You're Soul aren't you? Black Star's told me so much about you!"

Soul was inclined to doubt that, seeing as Black Star did not enjoy conversing on topics that weren't him and how great he was. Being his friend was a struggle sometimes.

"Bro, this is Maka, she's my oldest friend!" Black Star grinned, then started backpedaling, fast. "Not that, she's y'know, _old._ I've just known her since forever. Since she was even smaller than she is now!"

If Soul didn't know that Black Star feared no living creature in Heaven, Earth, or the Fires of Hell, he'd say that Black Star was probably a little afraid of Maka. But that was a ridiculous suggestion. Black Star feared no things. Especially not small pretty blondes with too green eyes.

There wasn't a thing in this world Black Star wouldn't fight with his own two hands, and Soul wouldn't bet on the other guy.

"Hey," Soul said, and then he waved because he didn't know what else to do. Maka giggled, then sucked in a breathe like she was trying to take the laugh back.

"These are so beautiful Soul, I can't thank you enough!" she looked around for somewhere to put them. Black Star sighed and grabbed the bouquet from her hands before heading to the back with it. Soul winced, Black Star was not known for being gentle with fragile items and he was positively manhandling those flowers. The legion of felines followed Star, perhaps sensing something they could knock over in the near future. Only a small grey cat remained, his hilariously stubby legs preventing him from making the door before it closed. Black Star made no secret of the fact he was leaving the pair of them alone to get to know each other, and the fact that he would probably be listening outside the door for a while before he re-entered the room too. Black Star was many things, but subtle he was not.

The radio died into a heavily distorted mumble. The little grey cat – he looked so angry! – came to bat at the aglets on Soul's laces. He picked it up in this mouth and rubbed against Soul in gratitude and tried to leave, tugging fiercely at the shoelace. It came undone, and still the little cat tugged and pulled unaware that he would never have the shoelace.

"Do you have any hobbies?" Maka asked, smiling broadly.

"I knit, and I… that's it," Soul said. Maka looked entirely unconvinced, and he supposed he had been entirely unconvincing. "What do you do?"

"I read a lot, and I spar with Black Star," she shrugged, like going toe to toe with Black Star was no big deal. Black Star got in a fight in a club once and the security had been too scared to throw him out. Most Chuck Norris jokes could be replaced with Black Star jokes. "And I look after all the cats, of course."

"Why do you have so many cats?"

"All through college I used to work in a bookshop in Vegas and we had all these great programmes where we would have cats up for adoption in the bookshop and kids could come in and read to them, so I thought I'd give it a try here – the shelter is always looking for people to take them anyway," she shrugged again, like the fifteen or so cats that now inhabited the retail space were no strain on resources.

"Are any of them yours? Yours-to-keep-yours?"

"Just one, her name is Blair, she's the black one."

"The lingerie shop down the road is run by a woman named Blair," Soul said, before he could stop himself. That shop's merchandise wasn't exclusively sexy underwear, he knew that in the back you could make rather more intimate purchases. He blushed, avoiding her eyes. "She's a really lovely person, I mean… She'll be really glad if she finds out about your cat? She really likes them so-"

"Soul!" Maka's voice cut through his babbling like a knife, "It's alright, I'm not offended that my cat has the same name as the proprietor of Blair's Flair _,_ I'm sure she's lovely."

"Oh thank god."

"Besides, she sells really great bras."

Soul choked. Maka leaned over and adjusted the fork/antenna of the stereo, politely pretending not to notice, and a slightly different catchy pop song warbled to life on the staticky radio. Soul didn't really know what to do, and he still felt awkward about bringing up lingerie less than five minutes after meeting the cutest girl he'd ever seen, so he grabbed Black Star's abandoned paint roller and started painting the wall in smooth vertical motions. The nearby tin, after some decoding, told him that this particular shade he'd chosen was called Dragon Heart.

"You don't have to do that! You'll ruin your clothes," Maka said, and when Soul shrugged, she grabbed a second roller and started working alongside him. It didn't seem like she was all that eager to refuse his help. She started singing the lyrics to a Carly Rae Jepsen song under her breath.

Soul hadn't been intending to reveal his surprisingly extensive knowledge of cheerful tweeny bopper pop music when he walked into Number Seven, yet here he was quietly singing about how he really, really liked you. He could hear the omnipresent voice of Black Star join in too. Which each passing line, they got louder and louder, the once straight lines of red veering into crooked, sweeping curves.

Maka had no sense of rhythm, but was flexible and danced like she was enjoying herself immensely. Despite his loathing for it, Soul wasn't bad at dancing. He was actually pretty good at it. He had an excellent sense of rhythm, and something about how Maka danced – full of life and energy and joy and the occasional cartwheel – made him want to dance for the first time in years. She grabbed his hand and tried to force him to dance with her, but he shook his head, cringing away from the offer.

Soul really didn't like to dance.

She pouted, and his resolve might've broken at the sight of that had he seen it. He was too busy looking out the window at Wes's real estate venture to notice the jut of her lower lip. The man who was eyeing it up earlier was opening the door on his way out after investigating the property. His suit was neatly tailored, professional-looking and very expensive; but he didn't appear give a damn about the copious amount of dust it had picked up inside the long shut shop. He wasn't a tailor, and he wasn't an entrepreneurial hipster. He looked almost like a business executive. Soul'd seen a lot of people give the empty shop a cursory eyeball, but he's never seen anyone venture indoors for what could only be described as a 'look see'. A real estate agent followed him out. They shook hands.

Dragon Heart dripped dangerously near his boots, splashing on the plastic sheeting and sending the little grey cat skittering away.

Maka squeaked, swooping in to save him from imminent disastrous paint roller to jeans contact. Soul shook his head to clear his thoughts, and muttered a quick inaudible "thank you" quickly followed by an "I have to go" with more or less the same sound quality. Her brow furrowed, the fair eyebrows knitting together in confusion, but Soul couldn't see that and the wind chime tinkled behind him, loud in the void of silence left behind by Carly Rae.

He needed to call Wes.

Soul went through the shop to get to his apartment upstairs. He normally went round the back, to maintain some separation of business and home life, but he was in a hurry and going through the shop shortened the journey by about three whole seconds. His front door, which was up a stairs behind the shop, seemed marginally stiffer and more unwilling to open than it did normally. He shouldered it to get the unyielding hinges to relent.

The apartment was small, a little bigger than the shop thanks to the bridge over his parking spot, and decorated like a bachelor pad – all dark square furnishing, cool metal finishes and an over large flatscreen- that is, it might have been, if not for Soul's favourite hobby, which resulted in many of the dark square furnishings and cool metal finishes being covered with brightly coloured knitted blankets and cushions. There was an upright piano tucked away in the darkest corner of the room, and a gramophone in pride of place on the shelving under the wall mounted television, next to the Dual 1237 that he actually used for playing his records, and the black Crosley Cruiser he used to take to parties in college. The shelves themselves cluttered with vinyls, DVD's and Xbox games that were all spilling out into plastic storage boxes, similar to the ones he used for his wool stash, hidden away under his bed where light could not harm them.

Soul knew exactly what was in his fridge, and decided that he'd much rather have delivery and watch Daredevil on Netflix. Maybe make a start on that maroon jumper, he'd found a good pattern on ravelry after all.

But first, the matter of the handshake.

Soul had five personal numbers in his phone. His parents, his brother, his nephew and Black Star. The rest were all business numbers. He didn't take the time to scroll through the short list to dial out to Wes, just punched in the digits he'd long since memorized. Wes had had the same number ever since he'd gotten a cell.

It started to ring, and Soul knew that Wes would pick up. Soul hardly ever called, so he'd know it was important and answer if he could. If he couldn't for some reason, he'd ring back pretty promptly

"Soul?" Wes said, voice a little distorted by the phone. "What's wrong?"

"Who is it?"

"Wes. You were the one who called me," Wes sounded understandably confused. Soul didn't have time for his confusion, no matter how understandable.

"No, who's renting the shop?" Soul amended, aware that he was jumping to conclusions more than just a little.

"No one's renting the shop," Wes said, too tired to deal with Soul. "You know that."

"Someone's renting the shop," Soul insisted.

"Well, this is the first-" there was an audible buzz from Wes's end of the line, and a pause as he read the message. "Someone's rented the shop, has the lease signed for 12 months, Happy?"

"I didn't ask whether it was rented, I asked who'd rented it."

"It doesn't say."

Soul groaned, and hung up. Useless. Wes could be their parents' favourite son all he liked, but they clearly had poor taste. A minute later his phone buzzed: _Joel wants you to come visit._

Soul didn't bother texting back, he'd visit on Friday, like he always did after Joel asked him to visit, even if it was through Wes. He had a cool uncle reputation to uphold. He had a bad influence to be.

 **Please** **R &R.**


	3. Pomegranate and Chapstick

**Chapter Three: Pomegranate and Chapstick**

Soul was up early, waiting for stock to come in. He was not a morning person. Soul in fact, like many people, believed the 'morning person' archetype to be a myth created by cereal company advertisers in coalition with yogurt drink marketing teams. The van would be here soon with the regular daily stock, the corsage making equipment and the extra quantities of orchids. Soul didn't get the thing about orchids, but he'd never gone to prom.

They weren't the only flower sturdy enough to use, but they were the only flower anyone seemed to want to use. Prom was far too big a deal these days, which did mean that Soul could charge a bundle for his corsages.

The delivery was late, but it always was, so he wasn't worried about that just yet. He was, however, worried about how his brain would feel after putting together a hundred plus corsages. He couldn't remember anything about last year, having shoving the painful week deep into the recesses of his subconscious from where it distantly roared in his dreams occasionally.

Maka pulled up on a bike beside him. Of course she cycled to work on a cute High Nelly bicycle with a basket and a little bell. Judging by the way she'd been pedalling backwards, it didn't have any real brakes either. She swung her leg over and hopped down, reaching up to take off her helmet. The bike didn't have a kickstand so she steadied it with her hand. Soul found himself wondering what this bike did have, if she hadn't even bothered bringing a bike chain. She was wearing a big Death City Slaughterers jersey and a pair of leggings. She might've said some manner of greeting to Soul, but he neither responded to nor acknowledged it, so focused was he on her choice of accessory.

"Is that a fanny pack?"

She opted for a defensive stance on the matter. "So what if it is? Fanny packs are cool!"

The pack in question was yellow and printed with tiny words that were cramped together. He used his offense at the garment as a tool to study it, he discovered that the letters 'n' and 'a' were repeated over and over, for whatever reason. She glared at him, arms akimbo.

"Fanny packs are not cool," Soul said. They were making a comeback for the festival scene, like the Canadian Tuxedo, but fanny packs, also like the Canadian Tuxedo, were not cool.

 _Batman._ Batman was the reason someone could be fooled into thinking a yellow fanny pack with 'nanananana' printed on it, was cool. But that still didn't make it cool.

"Well neither are bandanas and floral aprons but that's not stopping you!" Maka huffed, but she didn't make any move to leave. "You look ridiculous!"

Soul leaned back slightly to avoid her waving hand. Maka didn't even notice that she'd been _this_ close to gouging out one of his eyeballs. And he _liked_ his eyeballs.

"Yeah, but I'm cool," Soul said, his ears turning pink under her accusatory finger pointing. Anyway, his bandana and vintage apron _were_ cool but, considering Maka's taste, there was little sense arguing the issue.

"So am I!"

Soul shook his head sadly, and Maka looked as shocked as if he'd just told her that he'd killed the President. She clutched her chest.

"If I'm not cool, then what am I?" she whispered dramatically, struggling to keep a distraught expression on her face. He could see the smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she fought against her own mirth.

 _Cute_ whispered a voice in Soul's head, the little voice that told him to do things he either regretted doing or regretted not doing, _you're really cute. So cute that a predatory reflex makes me want to smoosh your face._

"You look like a bit of a nerd," Soul finally said, reaching out to ruffle her already messy hair. She blushed a pretty shade of pink that made his ears burn in response, but held off protesting long enough that Soul learned that even when windblown and a little helmet sweaty her hair was really light and silky soft.

She was half-heartedly pushing his hand away, just as a van passed. It had 'Move It Or Lose It' written on the side, and Maka shoved him away when she saw it.

"I have to go!" She said, pointing frantically at the van. "It's my shelves!"

She wheeled her bike down to her door, unzipping that absurd fanny pack to take out a set of keys- he could hear them jingle from where he was standing. The two delivery people were arguing and the taller of the two, a black man with a particularly scary 'X' shaped scar on his face gave the smaller one, a slip of a thing with a pink dye job, a noogie. The little one began to protest weakly, like they were used to it and Soul could hear Maka say shrilly "Leave Chrona alone, Rac!"

The flower delivery Soul had been waiting for pulled up, just as he was thinking the meek pink haired one would be exactly the type of delivery person he needed. He scribbled the phone number on his hand, cursing the hypocritical side of him that loved Comic Sans for its legibility while he repeatedly condemned it for it's appearance.

* * *

Soul was grappling with a plaster just as the beribboned lily bells hanging from the door frame jingled. Kim hauled Jackie in to the shop followed by a prim looking woman in spectacles who introduced herself as Azusa the wedding planner, by way of handing him a crisp business card. Now he had a paper cut to add to his growing collection. Perfect.

"Hi," Soul said.

"Soul-Azusa, Azusa-Soul," Kim gestured between them while Jackie took a turn around the shop and asked if he minded if she looked in the tunnel.

"No, not at all, go ahead. Yell if you see anything you like."

Kim followed, evidently eager to see the stock he kept in the back room.

Azusa pushed up her glasses and surveyed him. She made him want to stand up straighter and tuck in his shirt before she yelled at him.

"Have you ever done a Pagan wedding before, Mr. Evans?"

"No," He swallowed the _ma'am_ that almost slipped off the end of his tongue.

She tutted in lieu of a response. This was going swimmingly.

"Kim seems very fond of you," she noted, "I suppose you'll just have to do, won't you?"

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint you," Soul said, trying to inject a minimum amount of sarcasm into his words. He practically had the contract; he didn't want to screw this up. Besides, a Pagan wedding, that could be fun. Different at least.

He'd google the details later.

Kim and Jackie hurried out of the tunnel, looking flushed in a way that made Soul concerned for the state of his neatly ordered plants. That reminded him; he needed to put something into that ugly terracotta pot, as it was it was sitting in his kitchen upstairs still. Some kind of vine or creeper, maybe. The trio said their goodbyes and left, and Soul hurried to straighten any 'mysteriously' askew plants, before going back to the tedious and painful business of making corsages.

Soul needed a break. Next year, he was buying those 'attach a flower and go' monstrosities. High school kids, no matter how big a deal was made of prom, couldn't tell the difference between those and the ones he slaved over anyway.

He jabbed his finger on the wire he was trying to thread beads on, and sighed. He didn't bother reaching for a band-aid, he'd used the last one ten minutes ago, just as Azusa had arrived. His hands were covered in tiny Garfield plasters. To top the sorry picture off off, they were the easy remove kind, which turned out to mean 'good luck getting these suckers to stay on'.

He dumped the pliers and the stubborn wire on the wooden counter, but carefully screwed the lid on the big plastic jar of pearlescent beads tightly. Knocking a jar of beads, even if they were larger ones like these, over was the kind of mistake you only make once. He was going to buy a cup of coffee. He was going to buy _lunch._

You could be gone for a whole hour if you were going to buy lunch, and he planned on savouring every minute of it.

Through the window to Maka's shop he could see an eclectic mix of shelves already erected, and a pile of cardboard flatpack boxes with the word GERSBY printed on them in heavy black print. There were a few rolls of wallpaper leaning up against the counter, causing Soul to frown. He'd worked hard at painting those walls for that entire song.

He waved, but she was busy grappling with a box cutter. He'd call in after he picked up a coffee (maybe two). She had a lot of IKEA furniture to put together, and there were still a lot of cats to contest with. The stubby legged grey one from before was staring right at him. He hurried along, unnerved by the unexpected attention.

Once inside Deathbucks, he couldn't bring himself look at Archimedes Reaper. He hadn't even been able to listen to his audiobook last night. And he was at a really good part too, he could tell. Still, maybe he should make friends with the weirdo.

They say you should never meet your heroes. Soul figured that was because him and the rest of the world had been assuming that Mr. Reaper was an old dude with a penchant for flat caps and been harbouring a secret fear that he might die before finishing the series off. They don't say, that once you meet your heroes and they turn out to be pale, skinny Asian men with no beard whatsoever and really pretty coloured but cold eyes you shouldn't befriend them.

Soul was wrapped up in thinking about all this while Patti was trying to push a coffee into his hand. He shook his head to clear it before sipping the coffee. It tasted like a virgin Pina Colada, which was both disarming and pleasant at the same time.

Soul, at this point, was confused by the 'New York Times Best-Selling Author' conundrum and the unsolvable 'Did Patti Sell Her Soul To Make These Beverages' mystery and the fact that Rupert Holmes was now crooning his heart out in some corner of his brain and he probably wasn't going to shut up for the next three weeks.

"What does Mr. uh, Kiddo, drink?" Soul asked. If he wanted a signed book for Joel, he'd have to at least prepare a suitable bribe.

"Any sort of tea really, why?"

"Can I get a cup for him?" he nodded his head in the direction of the clicking typewriter, just to make extra sure that Patti knew that the tea was for the coffeehouse Hemingway.

"He won't drink it," Patti said, scowling at the oblivious man's head. "He has a very strict tea drinking schedule."

"Oh. Can I pay for his next one then, just y'know apologise?"

"All Kidd's tea is free," Patti grinned. "He doesn't have to pay a single cent in here."

"You're kidding, right?" Patti wouldn't even let him know about the loyalty card scheme and there was Mr. Actual Millionaire sitting high and mighty on a throne of free tea. Maybe not millionaire. Soul would google it later.

Patti laughed. She wasn't kidding and no pun, no matter how unintentional, would ever be allowed to go over her head. He'd have to try again later. Maybe with a pastry.

"Can I get a sweet tea then?" Patti smiled knowingly, although whether what she knew and the truth lined up was entirely up to interpretation. When it was done he made sure that she stamped the loyalty card twice and paid, quickly instagramming the pair of drinks under the hash tags #TwoGoodToBeTrue and #CuteNewNeighbour.

The sight that greeted him once he was out the door made him sick to his stomach. There was sign up in the window of Wes's recently leased store space. A sign like a festering wound on the street with a familiar logo that filled him with dread.

'Coming Soon: Your Local Starbucks!'

He clutched the two beverages to his chest and yelled for Patti. Someone else might've dropped the cups in shock, but Soul wasn't going to waste any more good coffee on dramatic reveals.

He heard the bell tinkling as she came on the street.

She gasped. Loudly.

"This is awful! Wait until sissy finds out!" she wailed, before raising her iPhone in its giraffe print case to photograph the offensive advert. It disappeared to Liz in a flurry of thumbs. "Soulie you know what happened to Rumba's after a Starbucks opened downtown! We'll never survive the competition."

She burst into tears. Soul manoeuvred his cups until he was holding them against his chest with one arm and awkwardly patted her on the back. He could have really used one of Archimedes's monogrammed handkerchiefs now. He made a mental note to dig some out of the back of his closet and start carrying them around.

"There, there," he frantically tried to make eye contact with the other baristas or Kidd or anyone who was better at this than he was. It wasn't working. She was crying really loudly and passers-by were staring unhelpfully and seriously how could they not hear this over the ambient coffee house playlist they were trickling through the sound system?

"What's happening?"

Oh thank god. It was Maka. She was probably better at this than him. Everyone was probably better at this than him. Soul didn't like to bring up Hitler in polite company, but he was probably better at this than Soul. Especially since Patti was you know, rocking that Aryan thing.

He was going straight to hell with that line of thinking.

He nodded towards the sign as best he could with an armful of weeping barista and disposable cups. He gritted his teeth in preparation for what he had to say.

"Starbucks is opening," he was not happy with this turn of events, and neither would anyone else on the street be. Patti was, apparently, inconsolable. "Oh, I uh, got this for you."

He wriggled his elbow to draw her attention to the cups that were precariously balanced in the crook.

She took the sweet tea, and took a gulp to stave off the dry heat of the desert air.

"That's terrible!" she said, and Patti wailed, "Not the tea Patti, this is so good!" she took a lot loud, gulp, Soul stared at her, blushing as her throat moved, "See? It's so yummy. Thank you so much Soul this is exactly what I needed, I was just on my way to get a cup. How did you know?"

"I just thought that you'd like one, is all."

He could feel his ears burning. But, unfortunately he couldn't tell if that was a side effect from being an albino who made the life decision to practically live in Death Valley or because of what Maka said. Either which way, he'd have put on more sun-cream if he'd known he was going to be standing in the street with two girls who could beat the shit out of him while one cried loudly into his shoulder.

"Is she okay? Are you okay-" She looked at him, and he mouthed Patti at her, "-Patti? Patti are you okay?"

"Maybe you should go get Liz," Soul suggested, "Or the guy on the typewriter. They're pretty tight."

Maka ran into Deathbucks. She was gesturing expressively and not at all successful in getting her point across when Tsubaki appeared, carrying a large box of fresh pastries. Was the whole street going to come stop by the 'See Soul Evans Fail Miserably At Consoling Crying Woman, What Happens Next Will Surprise You!' show?

"Oh Patti, what's wrong?" Tsubaki said gently, with a look to Soul that said _I'll take it from here, you stop embarrassing yourself._ She touched Patti's shoulder softly, with none of the rigidity Soul had displayed. Patti immediately responded, switching from Soul's uncomfortably tense and now-damp shoulder to Tsu's much softer physique. Tsu shifted the box to her hip, wrapping her free arm around Patti.

"Tsu," Patti hiccoughed, just as Maka returned with Liz, Kidd and the three other baristas in tow. Who was in the shop? This was not sound business practice. "Tsu, they're opening a Starbucks!"

Tsubaki dropped the box of pastries and everyone gasped, staring aghast at the sign pasted in the window opposite. Excepting, of course, Soul and Maka, who were already aware of the dread Starbucks news and chose instead to stare aghast the dropped box of pastries. Maka swooped in and picked the box up, taking it inside to air-conditioned safety.

"Liz, what're we gonna do?" Patti said, already seeming more coherent and calm after thirty seconds of being comforted by someone who wasn't Soul. He'd be offended, if he wasn't so relieved.

"We're going to…" Liz sighed. "Oh Patti, I don't know what we're going to do."

* * *

The next day, Maka showed up in the shop.

She was holding a cup of coffee out to him, sucking on the straw of her own cup of sweet tea.

"You didn't have to-" Soul started, taking the coffee. He never was one to turn down free coffee.

"But I did," she smiled. "They've started work on the Starbucks, it won't be long before it's up and running."

Soul scowled at the conversation topic. Starbucks was bad for the whole street, not just Patti and Liz. Tsubaki sold a lot of baked goods through them, and the independent, hipster vibe of Caberallo Street was put in jeopardy by the addition of a franchised store. The vast majority of all their business came from hipster students and people who came specifically to drink at the last independent coffee shop in the city.

Soul took a tentative sip of the drink, he hadn't been there to watch over the coffee brewing process and be certain she wouldn't make a 'Pumpkin Spice Soy Orange Mocha Cayenne Pepper Latte' or something. Who knew what this could be?

It was 'Tutti Frutti' the flavour of toxic-looking blue popsicles, at least the ones that weren't Blue Raspberry. It was good; he didn't want to seem like a loser by instragramming right in front of Maka. He'd do it later, after she left. Then he'd have to take out the wastepaper basket, the pile of paper cups in it was getting both precarious and a little funky. The flowers disguised the smell mostly, but Soul was used to the backdrop of floral fragrance and the old coffee cup smell was more apparent to him.

"Aren't you going to take a photo for Instagram?" Maka asked. "I follow you, you know."

Soul flushed, wondering if she'd seen yesterday's coffee post. A shy smile told him she had, and he turned a few shades darker again. He snapped a quick shot of the strangely flavoured coffee, among the corsage pieces he still had to assemble for the prom tomorrow. He was going to be up all night. He'd have to scroll through his followers to find Maka later.

Maka frowned like she'd just remembered something. "Is there any reason Patti laughed in my face when I asked her what your regular order was?"

"Uh, I get a different drink every day," Soul said. "Patti just makes it up."

"That's pretty brave," Maka said, "Patti's a few mourners short of a wake."

There it was. That inherent morbid weirdness that came with being a Death City native. He'd noticed it ever since he moved here. Patti and Liz had commented on it too when he'd asked, but when he'd brought it up to Kilik his response had been "that's just white people, man." Soul hadn't found out until later that Killik had been born and raised in Death City, and Soul had caught him muttering 'fuck him for a eulogy' before. So, he was pretty sure it wasn't just 'white people'.

Soul did the only thing you could do when faced with the oddities the city had to offer; he laughed.

"What's so funny?"

Her foot tapped against the floor.

"You are, this whole city's kind of a joke," Soul said. "You have an NHL Team in the middle of the desert."

"I bet people are just as weird wherever it is you come from," Maka pouted. Soul came from Maryland. People were most definitely not weird in Maryland, especially not the part he hailed from. Rich and snobbish, with a more money than sense and usually one of those little yappy dogs that have some kind of vendetta against ankles, but not weird. "I mean, how else would you have turned out like that?"

She waved her free hand at him in a way that could be read as either positive or negative.

"How's that?" Soul stepped back, giving her a better view of the vintage flour sack apron, faded Don't Believe The Truth tour shirt and his brilliantly coloured sleeves.

"Cool and-," she blushed, like she thought the better of what she wanted to say. She clamped her mouth around the straw like she was still trying not to say whatever it was she hadn't said. "I like your sleeves," she said, when she finally resurfaced.

"Thanks, Black Star did them."

"He's gotten way better than when he used to work on me in high school," Maka said, looking as though she was upset she'd missed out on later artistry. "Everything he did on me it… ugh well, everyone has to start somewhere you know? Probably should've let him practise on bananas or something first though..."

"You… let Black Star… practise?" Soul spluttered.

"It wasn't a big deal or anything, it's just skin," she shrugged. "It's not like it's permanent in the real sense of forever forever and the universe and infinity."

Soul remembers hearing about a five thousand years old mummy with some sweet ink, but he thinks now is neither the time nor the place to mention that fact.

"Can I see?" he asked instead.

She was wearing a short shirt and thin sweater, where in god's name had Black Star been practising?

"Sure, like I said, it's no big deal," She put her cup on the counter, and Soul stole a sip while she wasn't looking. It was good. Too sweet and not nearly caffeinated enough for him, but cool and refreshing all the same. It tasted like pomegranate and Chapstick.

"I heard that."

"Heard what?" Soul couldn't feign innocence if his life depended on it, and even though her back was to him, he knew she was rolling her eyes.

She pulled up the back of her shirt.

Soul noticed three things. First, her bra was pale blue and lacy. He could've easily reached over and undid the clasp. Second, her curves were slight, but they were there and he wanted to run his hand up along her waist. Thirdly, and this was what she was showing him, her back was mess of colour and line. Designs layered over each other and crooked attempts at lettering (were those Jay-Z lyrics?) crisscrossed over the more graphic designs. There was no bare skin and there was ample evidence to support the theory that once Black Star had run out of bare skin, he'd tattooed over and over the same places.

"Didn't that hurt?" Soul said, horrified.

Of course it hurt, don't remember how it felt getting your sleeves?

"No," Maka replied, pulling her shirt down before she could drive away scandalized customers. "Should it have?"

Soul didn't answer, he was sort of in shock, and he was also very afraid that the only words his mouth could make would be "Marry me."

"Okay…" She said to his frozen expression, "What are all these?"

"Uh," That was close to a word that wasn't a proposal of marriage, right? "These are for corsages."

"The senior prom is tomorrow isn't it?" Maka said, "How do you turn all this into a corsage?"

"Come around here, and I'll show you," Soul graciously lifted the heavy counter partition even though, if her arms were anything to go by, she could easily have done it herself. She grabbed her tea and moved around, forgetting perhaps, that she could have easily reached it from his side of the long wooden counter.

Her eyes widened when she saw the overflowing bin of coffee cups, but she didn't comment on it.

"So how does this work?" Maka said, stretching one of the beaded bracelet bases with her fingers.

Soul had spent all yesterday, and well into the night making the dumb bead accessories and cutting lengths of ribbon for pretty bows and separating them out into their colour schemes, so all that he was doing today was assembling the damn things. He had a list of how many he had to make in each colour, and enough supplies to make an extra fifteen corsages.

"Well, first you tell me what colour your dress is," Soul said. "And we go from there."

"Uhm… I didn't go to prom?" Maka admitted.

"Eh, neither did I," Soul shrugged. "Let's say it's blue, because most of them are blue, and that's what I'm making right now, and I don't want to get my schemes mixed up."

"Alright, my dress is blue, and it's pretty, and I look great," Maka said, "Then what?"

Soul carefully showed Maka how to cut the stems of the white orchids near the top, leaving about an inch and a half, and how to trim fresh leaves off the eucalyptus plant. When she cut hers a little short, he told her how to fix that with a little piece of florist wire.

"Okay, now you pick out your decorations," Soul said.

"Can I have one of each?"

"Absolutely," He said, and she grinned and took a craft feather, one of the bead decorations that were the reason his fingers were encased in a thick layer of peeling Band-Aids and a length of pretty blue ribbon.

He leaned over her to teach her how to bind the stems and the long neck of the beaded piece with first the flexible, dark green wire and then the tape. Her tongue poked out the corner of her mouth while she focused, and she flushed when he reached over and angled the floral tape in her hand correctly.

"You have to go over it twice, these things have to be really sturdy," she nodded like she was storing away that piece of information for later use. Soul didn't know when she'd ever need it, but he knew she had it locked away in her mind palace for future reference.

"Okay, now what do I do?" Maka asked, twirling the bound stems between her fingers.

"Carefully," Soul said demonstrating with his own bundle of orchids, "You bend the stems just a little, and then attach it to this little piece of plastic," He tried flipping it like a coin, but fumbled the catch, much to Maka's amusement.

Her laugh was clear and bright. He wanted to make her laugh again.

"Shaddap," he mumbled, counter-productively to his own quiet goal. His ears were burning, "Just pay attention okay?"

He threaded the wire through the holes in the plastic, fixing the flowers to the plastic.

Maka was struggling a little with this part, so he leaned over and helped bind the small bunch of orchids and eucalyptus plant leaves, all too aware of every time their fingers brushed and their close proximity. A bubble of nerves expanded in his chest.

"Sometimes, if it's still too loose, I use some of this," he admitted, pulling open a drawer to reveal a stash of E-6000 glue. "But yours is alright, for a first try."

She beamed, like there was no higher praise she could receive.

He showed her how to attach the small white feather, which was probably the simplest part of the process, by taping it down with a little piece of sticky tape. There were many more complicated and interesting ways to attach it, but Soul had learned that this was the best and easiest way.

"Okay, we're nearly there," Soul said, "Just the bow and then the band."

"I never knew this was so complicated," Maka confessed. "I thought you just stuck a flower on some elastic and away you go."

"I just make it look effortless," Soul said, tossing his head like a woman in a hair dye commercial.

"Pfft," Maka shoved him gently, or at least attempted to. He stumbled, but regained his balance quickly. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry are you okay?"

"'M fine, don't worry about it," Soul said, blushing. He picked up a length of ribbon and a little too fast for Maka to follow, twisted it up and around his fingers, somehow turning the ribbon into a pretty bow.

Maka tried to imitate his actions, but the ribbon first tangled together, then fell out into a decidedly unknotted length.

Soul laughed, and Maka pouted, because if he'd done it slower, she wouldn't have this problem!

"Just tie it like a shoelace," Soul suggested. "I had to watch like six hundred youtube videos to get it right."

She did, and he could hear her mutter quietly about bunny ears. He pressed his lips together and bumped her hip, throwing off her rhyme. She bumped him back, without thinking, which led to Soul was thinking he'd probably have a nice bruise there tomorrow. Then came the final step, using thin white ribbon to tie together the bow, the small plastic base and the beaded bracelet band.

"Give me your hand," she ordered primly, admiring the pretty decent jobs she had done.

Soul grinned, and held out his left hand for her to slip the corsage on. She angled her phone to take a picture of it. Soul bent on one knee, attempting to look as much like a valiant knight of old as it were possible to look while wearing skinny jeans, a thin plastic hair band and an apron made from a flour sack.

"M'lady," he offered her the corsage, cringing at his choice of words.

"Get up, you look ridiculous," Maka said, but her smile and pink blush probably meant she thought it was at least a little cute. She tugged him upright, pulling him a little closer to her than entirely necessary. She slipped her thin hand through the elasticated bead bracelet with ease, tugging the corsage up past her watch.

"C'mon, selfie," Soul said, shifting his iPhone to front camera, and slinging his arm around her waist to pull her in close. She was so tiny, he didn't have a problem making sure the corsage she'd made him was clearly visible. She wrapped her arm around his waist, and smiled.

He took the photo, and he was hesitant to remove his arm from her tiny waist once they were done. She seemed no more eager, leaning in to inspect the photo and his choice of filter.

"What should I tag it as?"

Now his followers were definitely going to figure out that rather than the pinterest mom/DIY guru they thought they were following, he was a scary looking albino with really sharp teeth and great style.

"Well first, you should tag me," she said, "MakaAttacka."

Soul snorted.

"It's not like yours is any better," Maka huffed. "SoulEater."

"It's cool," Soul muttered. He tagged the picture #Twinsies, before Maka snatched it out of his hands and added #CorsageMaking101 and #FriendshipBracelets, and programmed her number in and texting herself before he could protest. Not that he would've. She handed it back to him with a flourish and a bow.

"Good sir."

Soul quickly added the tag #CuteNewNeighbour while Maka was checking the time on her wristwatch.

"I have to go, I'm so sorry," she said, reluctantly removing her arm from his waist. She tried to pull off the corsage to return it to him, but it caught on the buckle of her leather watch strap.

"You keep it," Soul shrugged. "And I'll keep this. Sort of like, y'know, friendship bracelets or whatever."

"Sure!"

The bell jingled when she pulled the door open.

"See you later?" Soul said, just before she wheeled around to face him again.

"Wait, we should take a prom photo!" Maka said, rushing back. She ducked under the partition before Soul could lift it. He head thumped noticeably on the edge when she tried to get up, but Soul decided not to comment on it when all she did was glare at the partition for daring to exist.

Soul snorted. That was an awful idea. They had to do it.

"Hurry, I'm supposed to be not here ten minutes ago!" she said, shoving him unnecessarily.

He balanced his phone carefully against the pot of orchids, and set the timer for ten seconds, for various reason.

"Wait, you go-"

"Should I put my hands-"

"Did it take yet?" Maka hissed through her teeth.

 _Click._

It looked cheesy and awful, and Soul waited until after Maka returned to her shop to make it his wallpaper.

 **Please** **R &R**.


	4. House Brew

**Chapter Four: House Brew**

The day of the local high school prom was Soul's second busiest day of the year. He could therefore justify to himself taking the entire next day off to go see his brother's family. He got up earlier than he'd ever imagined possible, wrote a note that said he was closed for the day, and stuck it on the door with the last, measly piece of florist's tape on the cardboard ring.

It fell off just as soon as he closed the door. Soul groaned, but didn't bother trying to fix it. The open/closed sign was flipped to closed, did people really need a note?

Soul always closed the shop the day after prom and the fifteenth of February, partially because he was usually exhausted, the energy he stored up for dealing with customers drained away and mostly because he was usually completely out of stock. He'd have to close for the whole weekend; the stockist wouldn't deliver until Monday anyway.

Not that he was complaining about his first weekend in months.

He'd drive up to Vegas and visit his idiot brother and his wife, and their son Joel and those two other kids they had that hadn't developed enough personality yet for Soul to bother with. They were cute alright, but all they did was squawk and sleep and shit a disproportionate amount, considering how much they ate.

It'd be fun.

Soul groaned again, locked the doors to the shop and jingled the keys to his van. The fucking van. He hated the van, but you couldn't deliver flowers on the back of a motorcycle. It was convenient. And practical. And meant he was the guy you called if you were moving.

Black Star yelled at him from where he was painting Maka's storefront- the guy was smiling so wide, Soul could see his molars from here. Why was Black Star awake so early? He was too people hungover for this and maybe a little actually hungover, seeing as he'd had a bottle of wine to celebrate last night. Alone.

Soul trudged down the street, shrugging out of his leather jacket. While he could normally last the stretch between his air-conditioned shop and the climate controlled van, the distance between his door and Maka's store front was a bit more then he was prepared for.

"Brotective!" Black Star waved the paintbrush in his hand, excited. Flecks of paint splattered on his face. The ladder wobbled and Soul rushed to steady it, but Black Star adjusted his balance to right it himself. "Going to see the fam?"

"Yeah," Soul never went anywhere else, unless you counted his annual pilgrimage to the San Francisco Flower and Garden Show, which Black Star didn't, because in his words it was 'like Comic-Con for flower nerds.' "Promised Wes I'd visit Joel."

"How's little Pianoman doing these days?"

Soul shrugged - he hadn't seen Joel in a few weeks. "I'll know when I see him. I'll tell him you were asking though."

"He still into those lame ass books?"

 _Shit._ He'd completely forgotten trying to convince a man he'd once spat coffee all over to sign a book for his nephew. He didn't even have a book to get signed. Getting an audiobook signed seemed like a stupid idea. Especially since his were digital. What was he supposed to do? Get his iPhone signed? Give away his iPhone?

He loved Joel, but not that much.

"Where's Maka?" Soul said, cutting off Black Star.

"Inside," Black Star looked at his handy work and nodded with satisfaction. "Why?"

"Just going to say hi," Soul waved his hand dismissively, trying to appear nonchalant.

"A'right, go get her," Black Star said, "Don't worry bro, she thinks you're a hot piece of ass!"

Soul didn't think it was possible to burn a bright shade of red, yet there Maka was burning with an equal shade of embarrassment and bristling with rage. Murderous rage, that Soul felt in no way obligated to pacify. If Black Star died as a result of his own idiocy, that was his fault.

And it was likely that would be Black Star cause of death.

"Hey," Soul said, looking at the empty bookshelves to avoid meeting her gaze. The IKEA ones were lined at the back with various wallpaper prints. The Little Grey Cat from before wound its way around his ankles and started tugging at the frayed hem of his jeans.

"Hi," he could hear her scuffing her boots on the floor. "Uhm… He's not, you know, exactly fabricating that statement."

"Oh," Soul said, "I uhm…"

"It's okay if you don't uh, ah…" she managed to turn a few shades darker again, hands fisting at her sides, "Return the sentiment."

Soul saw what was happening here, and as much as he wanted to continue the trend of being unnecessarily verbose, Maka had just more or less admitted to thinking he was attractive and he was having trouble producing words that weren't mere vowel sounds.

"Ah, uhm… I… uh," Soul swallowed thickly, Maka's too green eyes burning against his Adam's apple.

"Nevermind," she said, turning away. If her voice cracked, Soul thought she might rather he didn't comment on the fact. "What can I help you with?"

She might not have any books on the shelves yet, but those cardboard boxes probably weren't labelled 'BOOKS' in large permanent letters for nothing.

Somewhere in the back of his throat Soul found words, but they weren't exactly the ones he was looking for.

" _This Was The End,"_ the words fell out of his mouth, "I uh, my nephew…"

Maka ripped open one of the boxes with a good deal more force than necessary, especially if she wanted to consider reusing the boxes, and thrust the first instalment in his direction without looking up. It was secondhand, a little boxed around the edges.

Soul smelt it, fluttering the pages in front of his nose. He didn't get reading himself, but he knew the smell was important. It smelled like every other book that's been sitting in a box with its fellows probably smelled- a little musty, but not wholly unpleasant.

"How much?"

She didn't answer, and Soul put ten dollars on a shelf. The Little Grey Cat suddenly found his exceptionally stumpy legs no obstacle when it came to climbing the self and batting the bill to the floor in record time. Soul stared as the bill drifted slowly to the floor.

"Ow! Fuck!"

The Little Grey had jumped and landed, claws out, to cling to Soul's thigh.

Maka snorted, and broke out into laughter as Soul tried to extract the stubborn cat. This endeavour, was neither successful nor painless. Blood was drawn, and it wasn't the cat's.

"He likes you," Maka said. "Oni doesn't like anyone."

"I'd hardly describe this as a display of affection," Soul held the cat by the scruff of the neck while he unhooked the claws at the end of his stumpy legs from his flesh. The holes in his favourite jeans were emphasized by spots of blood. It looked black on the dark fabric.

"Take him for a week, and if you don't like him after that..." Maka said, her deep red blush having faded to a pretty shade of pink. "Just bring him back!"

Judging by how well the little bastard could cling, bringing him back would be difficult to say the least. But if it would make her happy to have this asshole live in his apartment and chase all his wool and get it's hair on everything he owned, he'd give it a shot. Besides Oni, or whatever the little demon was called, had made Maka stop almost crying when he'd been standing there like a jerk, frozen by the confession.

Soul was at the door, old book and new cat in hand, when he finally found the words he'd been looking for.

"It wouldn't be incorrect to uh… to uh… surmise? Yeah, surmise that the, uhm, sentiment was returned," Soul said, staring out at the street in a way he hoped made him seem cool, while also hiding his glowing cheeks. "Or whatever."

He left before she could answer, hurrying out the door and nearly knocking over Black Star's ladder. He needed to go to Deathbucks, sneak a cat past Patti's watchful eye, buy a coffee and convince a New York Times Best Selling author that he'd spat coffee on that they were cool enough for him to sign this book for his favourite nephew.

And go to a pet shop.

Black Star stopped peeling away the stencil obscuring the bookshop's name and gave him the thumbs up. Soul waved his new cat at Black Star, who laughed loudly and heartily. Soul shoved the small cat into his jacket, bundling him carefully like a baby and wedging him under his arm. Other than some fairly mild complaining, and sharpening his claws against Soul's favourite rib cage, the cat was silent.

He squinted at the lettering again before heading inside Deathbucks, but he couldn't make it out.

Patti seemed surprised to see him this early, but never-the-less start concocting his beverage of the day. He marched past her, right up to Kidd, who was hunched over a typed manuscript, flipping the pages over and marking them with red pen like a teacher grading homework. He was crossing out paragraphs and scribbling in the margins on the heavy stack of pristine paper. The typewriter was pushed to the side on top of a full, fat, purple archival binder and matching hole-puncher.

"Uhm," Soul said, "Would you-?"

Patti made frantic 'do not take this course of action' gestures, slitting her hand across her throat. They were wasted on Soul, but her attempts to dissuade him from this course of action should not go unrecognised; even if they went unseen by him.

Soul held out the book, and Archimedes looked at it like he'd never seen it before in his life.

"Would I what?" Kidd looked about as confused as Soul felt.

"Sign it. For my nephew," Soul said, before adding. "Joel."

"Oh," Kidd said, "I don't sign things. It takes too long."

"He's a huge fan, it'd uh, mean a lot to him," Soul tried. He lowered the book a little.

"How old is he?"

"Uh, ten."

"Isn't that a bit young to read those?" Kidd nodded at the book like he only knew about it because it was popular. Like he'd never even read it, never mind written it.

"Doesn't stop him," Soul said, leaving out the part that Wes would kill him if he knew he was enabling his ten year old son's age inappropriate reading habits. "He won't shut up about them."

That was a little bit of a stretch, but it seemed to do the trick. Kidd wrenched the purple binder out from under his typewriter.

"Give him that," Kidd said, dumping it in Soul's arms, "And tell him to write every thought he has about it down. Personally, I find honesty of children so refreshing."

Oni yowled when Soul staggered under the unanticipated weight of the binder, he flipped open the cover.

 _This Was The End VI_

Under that was a list of potential title for the next instalment of the series which Soul couldn't read in his eagerness to thank Kidd, who'd returned to editing his manuscript and couldn't hear him anyway.

He left the shop in a daze and Patti had to chase him down to sell him his coffee. It tasted like a s'more, but he didn't end up tasting all that much of it in the end. He needed the caffeine, but Soul was not over fond of marshmallows since breaking his high school's Chubby Bunny record by a resounding margin.

Soul was too busy wondering how the fuck he was going to explain the book to Joel, chugging scalding coffee and thinking about whether or not his new pet could hold its bladder for the journey to attempt reading the new lettering above Maka's door.

* * *

It couldn't.

The van that Soul already hated now had the added benefit of smelling like cat pee. He pulled up outside Wes's house, blocking his brother's over-priced car in the drive and making sure that Stella's minivan could get out. He liked Stella, she was practical and kind and somehow able to contain his brother's bullshit to a minimum radius. At any rate, anyone who took one for the team and got a minivan and had to carpool everyone everywhere deserved better in life than to be boxed in by Soul's shitty van.

Backpack, Devil Cat and Present That Would Firmly Cement His Position as Best Uncle Ever in had he walked up to the doorbell and rang it. On the topic of best uncle, it wasn't like he had a whole lot of competition; he'd met Stella's two brothers and they were both boring. Painfully so. They were legal advisers to casinos in the city.

Stella answered, holding one of the twins against her belly. It was facing out towards Soul and dressed in yellow. He could hear the other twin crying somewhere in the recesses of the house. Stella looked tired, modelling dark shadows under her eyes, but she smiled and pushed stray strands of dark brown hair out of her face before welcoming Soul in. It looked as though she had more stray hair than hair tucked in the ponytail at the base of her skull. The strands of hair tumbled back in front of her eyes and she huffed in irritation.

"Wes home?" Soul asked.

Stella scowled. "He's recording."

Recording meant that Stella probably hadn't spoken her husband in days. Which, seeing as the other twin seemed to be colicky, was probably grating on her last nerve. Especially if she hadn't been able to find time to play lately. Stella was a cellist, and although she wasn't as successful as her spouse, she was was still kind of a big deal.

"Me and Eileen are pretty busy, so you just make yourself at home," Stella said, "You know where everything is, don't you? Joel, Uncle Soul is here!"

Soul didn't have time to answer before his favourite nephew (and possibly his only nephew, seeing as he couldn't remember what the twins were) came charging down the stairs and knocked the wind out of him with a tackle hug. Soul ruffled his fluffy hair carefully and Joel butted his head into Soul's hand, and mussed his hair even further.

"Hey kiddo," Soul grinned, baring his teeth in a way he normally avoided. The words felt weird in his mouth, especially now that he knew a grown man who went by Kidd.

Joel didn't answer, just pushed his face further into Soul's stomach.

"Nice to see you too," Soul said, "Stella, me and Joel here are going to go have a snack."

"Is that cat?" Stella asked, indicating Oni; who had taken up residence on Soul's shoulder like some kind of parrot, and only dug his claws in when they were in transit. Soul considered this to be a marked improvement over his former status as a human scratching post."When do you get a cat?"

"About two hours ago," Soul said, "Don't tell Wes."

"Why not?"

Soul's ears reddened in response.

"Oh, I see, someone tickled your fancy?" Stella smiled. Making absurdly astute deductions was her specialty. That and early baroque. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Soul took that to mean 'I won't tell him until after you leave,' which was as good as could be expected from a couple that shared everything.

"C'mon, let's go get something to eat," Soul said, waddling in the direction of the kitchen with both a cat and a small for his age child clinging to him. "Then we can go play playstation?"

Stella smiled, but then whichever twin she was holding started crying and that was the end of that.

Joel finally detached himself when they got to the kitchen, but his hands were still flickering in excitement. He was quiet, and a little wary of the cat perched on Soul's shoulder. Joel started pulling open cupboards and piled anything that seemed to spark his interest onto the island counter-top, he was going to make a sandwich for them to share.

Joel's sandwiches were awful; he just piled everything he could find in between two slices of bread. Soul was the only person who would eat them and he suspected that it had informed his taste in coffee. But Joel had been born when Soul was still just a teenager, so he guessed that somehow he'd never grown out of that teenage boy ability to eat anything vaguely resembling edible. It had served him well all through college, ever if it had resulted in a nickname or two.

Joel cut the towering sandwich in half and slide one part over to Soul along with a large glass of water. Soul preferred not to dwell on the contents of Joel's sandwiches, instead electing to devour it before taking a long draught of ice cold water to wash it down. Wes and Stella theorized that the ice water helped numb his poor taste buds. Joel always watched him do this intently before embarking on his own sandwich.

"Black Star was asking for you," Soul said, "He called you Pianoman."

Joel had started playing the piano because of Soul, but the interest had grown to the point where the poor kid couldn't be left alone with a piano without attempting to take it apart, put it back together and tune it impeccably. This had varying degrees of practicality and applicability. If the mood took him, he would also tune Wes's entire violin collection and Stella's cellos. That mood did not take him as often as Stella and Wes would have liked.

Black Star had met Joel exactly once, when he'd spent the night at Soul's a year ago and Black Star had let himself in through a window to find the then nine year old sitting among what appeared to be the gutted remains of Soul's upright. Star attempted to start a fight and Joel attempted to dial nine-one-one and the whole thing would have been an unmitigated disaster if Soul hadn't chosen that exact second to leave the bathroom.

The peanut butter in the sandwich stuck the roof of his mouth, and he tried to work it free with his tongue while Joel ate slowly, frowning slightly at the cat on his shoulder.

"This is my cat," Soul said, plopping him on the almost counter and hoping Stella wouldn't find out. She was rather houseproud. "Oni."

Joel didn't say anything, but reached out to pet the stumpy legged demon beast. Oni purred, the sound vibrating loudly through the kitchen. He butted his head up into Joel's hand and began complaining loudly when it suddenly retracted. Soul reached across to fill the cat scratching void and the purring resumed at full force, though the fuzzy demon appeared to be checking to see if Joel was jealous.

"Hey, I uh, got you something," Soul said, hefting the binder onto the island and pushing it across to Joel. "Don't tell your Dad."

Joel's hands flitted across the binder, cataloguing each sensation it had to offer before opening it.

He opened it, then closed it and opened it again to make sure.

"You know that weird guy I was telling you about? The one who sits in the corner of the coffee shop and never, ever leaves?" Soul said, waiting a second to see if Joel was receiving any of this information. Joel nodded, hands still fluttering over the binder. He looked up but didn't make eye contact, focusing instead on Soul's mouth. "It, uh, turns out he was Archimedes Reaper, and that that's his real name."

Joel nodded again, his attention returning to the binder and he flipped slowly through the pages. He lifted the binder up and thumbed the pages, inhaling through his nose. Soul _knew_ that the smell of books was important. _He fucking_ _knew it._

"He said he wants you to write down what you think of it," Soul said, "And he said he might even write it on the cover."

Kidd had said no such thing, but Soul didn't mind telling a little white lie to Joel, especially if it would make him happy. Besides, Kidd seemed like the kind of oddball who'd put the review of a ten year old kid with autism on the cover of his book, right above the professional literary critics opinions.

"You're on holidays soon, right? Why don't you ask your parents if you can come stay at mine in a few weeks?"

"That could be cool," Joel said, finishing the last bite of his sandwich. Joel described things as either 'cool or uncool' a habit that Soul knows he didn't just lick up off the ground.

"C'mon, let's go upstairs," Soul said, "You can read and I'll play minecraft."

Joel grabbed him by the hand and hauled Soul out of the kitchen- he barely managed to snag Oni on the way. Joel's bedroom looked like a cross between an IKEA catalogue's suggestion for a ten year old's bedroom and a nerd palace.

When Wes finally reappeared from the depths of the recording studio to knock of Joel's bedroom door, Soul was playing on Joel's too-expensive-for-a-ten-year-old desktop setup and Joel was a quarter of the way through the binder, meticulously recording his every thought, whether relevant or not on colour coded Post Notes crowded on the pages. Soul didn't know what the code was, but Joel assured him that 'any idiot could figure it out.'

Soul had 'harumph'ed good-naturedly at this, before yelping in response to the sudden appearance of Slenderman.

"Come in," Soul said, aware that Joel was too busy cataloguing his thoughts to answer. "Door's open."

"How's my little brother doing?"

Soul didn't answer. He thought it would be Stella. He'd already chewed Wes out over the phone for leasing his shop to Starbucks, and they certainly weren't on speaking terms after a betrayal of that magnitude.

A silent minute dragged past.

"Dinner arrived," Wes said. "We ordered pizza. Maggiano's Pizza."

Wes knew his brother too well.

"Can we have it in here?" Soul asked, and Joel looked up in awe like eating dinner in your room was an innovation akin to sliced bread. "We'll be really tidy."

Joel nodded enthusiastically, and whatever about saying no to the sudden recurrence of teenage Soul, it was hard to say no to a son who boasted a post-it with 'Favourite Nephew' written in Soul's scrawling handwriting on it in the middle of his forehead. Joel made his eyes as wide as they would go and cocked his head like a puppy. While it made him look rather more like a mad scientist than the 'adorable child' he was going for, it had the desired effect.

"Alright," Wes conceded. "You been working on anything lately?"

Soul knew that Wes meant music-wise, and Soul also knew that Wes could tell when he was lying, but he said no anyway.

"Suit yourself."

* * *

When Soul arrived home early Monday morning with a binder full of post-its and a disgruntled cat, Maka had finally thrown open her doors, offering the winning combination of second-hand books and gently used cats.

There was a flyer wedged in his door, announcing a meeting of members of the local business owners association. The Local Business Owners Association Of Caberallo Street was something that had theoretically been in existence since before Soul had set up shop, but he had yet to see it called into action. The meeting would be held tonight in Deathbucks and all were welcome. Items on the agenda included 'Starbucks; Friend or Foe? Hint: Foe', 'Does Anyone Know What Happened to The Living Statue That Used to Hang Out on the Corner He Was Really Hot For A Guy Painted Silver' and 'How To Raise Yelp Ratings.' After all such pressing issues had been discussed, everyone was welcome to stay and play charades.

They had also included a note that while tea and coffee would be provided, they would appreciate if someone could supply some snacks. Soul assumed this was mostly directed at Tsubaki, who would've probably brought snacks whether she was asked to or not. He also knew that the turnout would be huge, partially because Starbucks was a huge issue, but mostly because Tsubaki would be bringing snacks.

Soul shoved it into his pocket, where he hoped he would remember it later. The delivery would be here soon, and he'd have some new stock. He was therefore, pretty cheerful when he opened the door.

And that lasted all of twenty minutes before Azusa arrived, and introduced her business partner Marie as the creative mind behind the business. They had Jackie and Kim in tow, At Knit's End didn't open on Mondays. Kim seemed utterly bored by the proceedings, content to drag Jackie out into the tunnel for reasons Soul didn't want to think too hard on. Azusa's cold eyes flicked in his direction and he stood up a little straighter. Marie had a fat binder, an eye patch and a distended stomach that looked pretty near the nine month mark. She smiled warmly at him, before hefting the binder onto the table. It was even thicker than the purple one Joel had sent him home with.

Tabbed dividers sticking out the side identified each month in the year and the heavily pregnant woman flipped to August. That was barely two months away, and Soul could see why Azusa's lips were pressed so firmly together. Wedding Planning was hard, usually you were sending invitations and save the dates about now, not barely starting planning.

Soul leaning over the binder, it showed the in-season flowers, the ones that would be cheapest and most fashionable to use for the time of year. She also produced from her Filofax a booklet of what she referred to as 'colour inspiration' held together with a treasury tag. There were colour sampler cards, photos of the desert, print-outs of Instagram shots of Jackie and Kim in soft pastels. Greys, pinks, blues and corals featured prominently as well as sandy browns.

"I was thinking," Marie whispered conspiratorially, "Of dressing the bridal parties in these shades, and having beautiful bright coral bouquets!"

"Sure," Soul said, flipping through the binder, "Sounds great, and you want the centrepieces to be the same?"

"No centrepieces!" Marie frowned, "It's a very unusual ceremony that they want, all they want by way of flowers are the bouquets."

"I guess we better make sure that they're really something so," Soul said. "Do we want the bouquets to match exactly?"

"That would be so cute!" Marie squealed shrilly.

"Do you, uh, want a chair?" Soul said. He eyeballed her stomach significantly, he couldn't even see her feet. "Might be good to get off your feet."

"No thanks, but you're a sweetheart for offering, now about the bouquets, I think a really dark blue for contrast and a white accent?" Marie said, flipping pages, "For the brides anyway, and a smaller of the same for each of the bridesmaids? That is typical, but I saw the photos you have on your website, such beautiful, original work - I had no idea you were one of those Evans! Of course, not many people would have recognised the Wes Evans without his head but I knew the instant I saw the bouquets - they were featured in Premier Bride, you know and I do have an eye for that sort of thing-" she tapped the hard shell of her eyepatch and Soul snorted. "It is my line of work after all!"

"Can you keep quiet about that?" Soul said, ears burning, "I don't want people to think-"

"Of course, of course. No need to worry - your secret is safe with me!" Marie said. "You won't happen to have a professional contact number would you? Having him in my books would certainly draw in clientele with enormous upper budget limits!"

"Uh, sure," Soul said, scrawling the digits on the back of his business card. "Actually, here, have his mobile number."

Soul was not normally in the habit of giving his sought-after brother's mobile number to practical strangers, but when said brother has betrayed all your ideals to the point you consider him a brother in name only, it's perfectly acceptable to seek a little revenge. He added Wes's home phone to the business card, which was now becoming cramped, for good measure.

"How many are in the bridal party?"

"Oh, there's three in each," Marie said, "And one each for the brides, so that's…"

Eight bouquets altogether. Not as much work as a wedding should entail, and judging by how little Kim and Jackie seemed concerned with the minutiae of the ceremony, putting them together would be very simple. The worst thing that could happen with same sex weddings was the Bridezilla. People had been waiting a long time for this, and now that it was happening they either wanted it to be perfect, or they wanted it to be done really quickly in case the legal system changed its mind about the Constitutional Rights of the LGBT+ community.

It appeared that Kim and Jackie didn't give a crap either which way.

Azusa excused herself to browse the shops lining the streets and make a few business calls. It appeared that Azusa was to Marie what Harvar was to Black Star.

"Why don't you see how Spirit's little girl is doing?" Marie said, "He told me she was working somewhere along here the other night at dinner."

She stepped back to mutter something to Azusa before she left. Azusa's eyebrows lifted a fraction. She murmured something back before leaving.

Marie rubbed her belly, and adjusted her weight. Although Marie was wearing very practical, professional attire, Soul couldn't help but notice that she was wearing fur lined crocs to complete the ensemble. He hoped she was only wearing them to ease her pregnancy swollen feet.

"Are you sure you don't want a chair?"

"I'm afraid if that happens, I won't be able to get up again!" She laughed, "C'mon, let's go see what you have in the tunnel, the office could use a bouquet."

She was packing up her binder and her colour inspiration booklet.

"Hang on! Can I just-" Soul mimed taking a photograph.

Marie handed him the colour inspiration booklet, and he fanned it out, snapping a quick pic on his phone. He'd use it to find the perfect colours and flowers later, but right now it was time to loudly announce his intention to go into his own tunnel and pray to whatever gods were in charge of this sort of thing that Marie did not go into labour in his shop.

* * *

When Soul walked into Deathbucks just a few minutes late, it was already more crowded than Soul had ever seen it. Of course, Soul made a point to go when he thought it would be the least busy, so he would have to interact with a minimum of people. Tsubaki was unpacking a large box of cookies that about three-quarters of the room were staring covetously at, and Black Star was trying to make his antics seem endearing.

If the soft smile on her face was anything to go by, he was not unsuccessful in his endeavours.

Kilik was trying to get the twins to sit quietly and draw in a corner, and Liz was staring unabashedly at his ass while she, Patti and the other baristas hurriedly brewed enough of the house special tea and coffee for everyone. Kidd was seated in his unusual booth, looking around in some confusion at the unexpected masses. Soul had his binder tucked under his arm along with a packet of Oreos he picked up from the store before coming here. He dumped them unceremoniously on the table where Tsubaki was setting up. No doubt they would be ignored in favour of whatever she had made- holy shit it was her _You Wanna Piece Of This_ peanut butter cookies. They had Reese's Pieces as chips and they always sold out at noon on weekends.

Soul grabbed one as he passed, they were going to clear out quickly and damned if he was going to lose out. Tsubaki must have made this batch special, but her modesty would prevent her from realizing their value to the amassed shop-owners. He cradled it in his hand, no sense it getting it crushed before he had the chance to taste it.

"Hey Kidd," Soul said, startling the author from his appraisal of the crowd. Soul had to wonder why he was even still here. The meeting was taking place after hours and Kidd wasn't a member of the Local Business Owners Association of Caberallo Street. It was like Liz and Patti had forgotten to send him home.

"Oh, hello Soul," Kidd replied "Please, have a seat."

Soul shrugged, and went to move some of the empty disposable cups out of the way.

"Don't!" Kidd protested, "I mean, I'll do it."

He frowned at the perfectly straight row of cups for a minute – Soul counted eight – before deciding that stacking them into one another was the best course of action. Kidd moved quickly and precisely, stacking them from the outside in simultaneously until he had two stacks of four. He rose and tossed them into the trash, before returning to sit opposite Soul.

"Did you ever play Speed Stacking?" Soul said. "You'd be good at it."

Kidd politely admitted his ignorance to the game and Soul used his data rather than chance attempting to connect to Deathbucks questionable wifi network to show him a YouTube video. Kidd watched intently, but showed no real interest in the video.

Soul tucked his phone back into the pocket from whence it came and passed the heavy binder over to Kidd.

"This is yours, I believe," Soul said, "Also I told him you might put something he said on the cover, but-"

"That's a wonderful idea Soul!" Kidd said, "But my publishers probably need his parents' permission."

"I can get that," Soul said, after all, what was a little signature forgery between brothers? "Is there a release form or something Wes needs to sign?"

The bell jingled and Soul looked up, even though the meeting hadn't even started, he wanted to see who was even later than him. It was Maka, looking tired from her big opening day. Soul raised his hand to call her over, and she broke out into a wide smile and practically skipped over.

She slid into the booth beside him, probably sitting a little closer than necessary. Soul couldn't find it in himself to complain.

"Is that one of Tsubaki's _You Wanna Piece Of Me_ cookies?" she asked, not bothering to say hi.

"Yeah," Soul said, "And it's mine. Go get your own."

Maka craned her neck to look at the snack table. It was picked clean of any and all homemade baked goods. A lone package of Oreos rolled like tumbleweed across the dessert wasteland.

"There aren't any left,"

"Go get us some tea, then we'll talk," Soul smirked. Maka pinked at the sight of his dangerous looking teeth.

"Fine," She blew her bangs out of her face in irritation. "Would you like anything, uh…"

"Archimedes," Kidd said.

"Like the mathematician?" Maka smiled. "And the author?"

Soul snorted, and tried fake coughing to cover it up. Maka looked at him with concern, ready to leap into action and perform the Heimlich if necessary.

"Very much like the author, and I'd much rather you called me Kidd," He offered her a hand to shake. "I don't need anything to drink, thank you very much for the offer."

"Are you sure?" She said, "It's no trouble,"

"Positive, I've already had eight."

Maka smiled, before batting her way to the counter that was lined with cups of tea and coffee.

Kidd opened the binder and took note of all the sticky notes poking out the sides, colour coded system still unapparent to Soul. Kidd's eyes widened and Soul bit back a grin. Joel had gone through that binder meticulously and jotted down every thought however relevant, highlighting lines and numbering each sticky note and even in some cases referring back to other notes at times.

Kidd would have his work cut out for him reading through that. He didn't appear upset, if the sudden light in his eyes was anything to go on. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning, if that Christmas morning had suddenly and unexpectedly arrived in June.

"How old did you say your nephew as?"

"Ten," Soul shrugged, "He's a big fan."

"And you, did you help him?"

Soul shook his head. Kidd flipped open the first page and glanced through it. He looked like he was about to start babbling about Joel's organizational skills and his valued opinion when he was interrupted by Maka sliding into place beside Soul and offering him a cup of tea.

Well, it was more like she withheld the cup of tea until he broke the cookie in half and gave her a piece.

By this team everyone had settled down and the meeting opened.

"Okay," Liz said, ever the business woman. She was holding a stack of flashcards and trying not to glance down at them too much as she read. "Starbucks is bad, not only for our business but for most of yours as well. Patti and I used to work there, in the busiest branch in Brooklyn. There's a reason we named our store Deathbucks, and it's not 'cause we liked the place. It was awful, apart from the healthcare. Anyway, 'point is - the vast majority of our income comes from rush hour sales. Fully staffed Starbucks can churn out coffees twice as fast as we can, and at rush hour, when people are in a hurry where do you think they'll go?"

The obvious answer hung in the air and Soul wasn't the only person to glance out the window at the under construction corporate monster of Greek legend. It was dark out and he couldn't actually see it, but the thought was there. The fact that he couldn't see was a little scarier than when he could. What if it moved or something?

"Starbucks have their own brand of pastries and cookies, too, which means the almost sixty percent customer drop we can expect during rush hour will seriously affect Tsubaki's business too."

Tsuabki was the big draw for the street. Everyone knew that, even if Tsuabki denied it fervently. She was in all the tourist brochures for Death City, Lonely Planet had her pegged as the best bakery in a three state radius and her Yelp ratings were off the charts. If you were planning a road trip, her bakery was the detour you should take. Her Facebook page was closing in on a million likes. Deathbucks was a close second; drawing in the hipster population of the city, those who had nowhere else to turn for locally owned coffee shops but it certainly didn't draw tourists and people from out of state to their doors.

If Deathbucks fell, so would Get Baked and after that they were all doomed.

"So we're asking each business to pledge an incentive to encourage customers to stay with Deathbucks," Liz said. The flashcards hung limp and forgotten in her hand. "We have some of our own plans in mind, like encouraging arson and advertising the fact we have year round pumpkin spice lattes-"

An unexpected cheer went up around the room.

"But we ask that you each come up with an incentive for customers with a Deathbucks loyalty card with, say, ten or more stickers on it, to trade in for a discount and maybe advertise it under some kind of 'Fuck Off Starbucks' slogan" Liz glanced down at the flashcards in her hand. "Patti's going to pass around a sheet of paper and sign it if you are ready to commit to this. Every card you can bring is will get you a free drink."

"If you need some time to think over it, that's fine, just come in and ask Patti for the sheet when you're ready."

The sheet landed in-front of Soul, a half dozen names already scribbled on it.

He added his name, he was doing well. He could afford to give ten percent of fresh bouquets or something. He'd work it out later and make a sign for the window.

Maka frowned at it, he could tell she wanted to help, but she was just getting started. She wasn't in as secure a position as him. She chewed the end of the pen for a moment before signing. She didn't have to offer much, just something to show she was on their side.

She offered the pen and paper to Kidd who looked baffled for a moment, before accepting them and quickly passing them on.

"Aren't you going to-?"

"I'm not a shopkeeper."

"Oh, what is it you do then?"

"Something else entirely."

Maka huffed and Soul excused himself to go to the bathroom before he pissed himself while Liz opened the floor to the debate on the Living Statue.

 **Please R &R**


	5. Apple Pie With Cinnamon

**Chapter Five: Apple Pie With Cinnamon**

Enough time had passed for Soul to think on his night of charades fondly, despite the fact that had failed spectacularly to guess almost everything Kidd had pantomimed. It wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't been painfully obvious in retrospect. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

Starbucks was making more progress than anyone liked to admit, and Patti scowled at the help wanted sign every time she made Soul's coffee. Liz had told him that she was afraid that they would steal their baristas. Soul assured her she had nothing to worry about, and that the fact that Meme had ever gotten a job anywhere was a miracle in itself. Soul had a hard time imagining her as anything but extremely out of it and sleepwalking through the motion of making of sweet tea and iced coffee.

When Soul had quietly asked if she had some kind of a substance abuse problem, Liz had told him firmly and sharply that she would never tolerate that. He'd never seen her look so serious before. She looked like she could bring a knife to a gunfight and win.

Soul was just finished all the main parts of the deep red cable knit jumper he'd been working on – he still had to do the collar and make it up, then tuck in all the ends. Those were his least favourite parts about knitting. So, he figured, since it was the start of summer, he could leave that for a little longer at least. He flipped the sign and darted upstairs to dig out something else to work on.

He came up empty handed. Sort of.

Like all experienced knitters, Soul would never let his stash run out of enough wool to last at least seven years. But he was nearing that cut off point, so he headed to Knit's End before getting his (and Maka's) coffee.

Jackie was helping a woman, middle-aged quilter with a broad cloth hairband and blunt bangs, and Kim looked up from her book and waved. When she smiled at him, it seemed genuine. Soul doubted Kim had the customer service skill set to blast high wattage smiles at every casual browser, but Soul was a cash cow.

He headed to the back of the shop, to where the high shelves of soft yarns lived. He had his environmentally friendly cotton shopping tote with him and crumpled print out of a pattern. Someone had recently pointed out to him that there was no point in knitting if you didn't adorn your nearest and dearest in absurdly ugly festive Christmas jumpers.

Soul would never stoop to knitting something deliberately ugly, but had realized that he hadn't been tapping into the five potential wool wearers Wes and his family were. There were five people he could've been making jumpers and hats and scarves for, when he'd basically just been making jumpers for himself and his furniture. He had so much knitwear to catch up on.

Soul headed towards the sock-weight yarns, looking for something in a soft acrylic. Soul would normally never knit something in an acrylic (it was basically plastic, for god's sake) but Wes was definitely not the type to remember not to destroy Soul's hard work in the washer/dryer. He shuffled through the shelf of yarn for a pleasing selection of colours.

He settled on a blend of grey-blues and soft sky pinks and pale yellow, before digging through the bin of discounted wool to find a ball of glow in the dark wool. He searched again, in the hopes of finding a second, before resigning himself to making something small, like a headband.

Kim put down her book as he approached the counter, looking over his shoulder to make sure Jackie was okay. She dog-eared the corners of her books to save her page, something Maka termed as 'violence against books'. She'd shrieked once when Soul had cracked the spine of a books of knitting patterns he'd found in her shop. Apparently Quilter Mom was turning into Retail Worker's Nightmare Mom. Soul spilled his wools across the counter, before reaching to the counter display and grabbing a handful of stitch holders and a couple of darning needles.

That damnable cat, Oni was stealing them and stashing them somewhere. Soul had no doubt that if he took the time to thoroughly search his apartment he'd find them. He did doubt, however, that his devil cat would relinquish them without a fight, and Soul didn't feel too much like getting mauled to death by a seven pound beastie today.

"Have you read it?" Kim tapped the cover of her book, one of the heavy tomes of _A Song Of Ice And Fire_. Soul shook his head.

"You watch it though, right?"

"Yeah, course I do," Soul said. "Doesn't the whole world?"

"Did you see-"

"Excuse me," The Quilter Mom said. "If you are just going to chat all day, I'd like to make my purchase please."

Kim's eyes narrowed, and Soul thought he might see someone get turned into an amphibian right before his very eyes. He stepped back out of laser-death range, and the Quilter Mom, believing him to have conceded this battle, piled her quilting weight cotton blend fabrics on the counter on top of his wool.

Jackie waved Soul over.

"What?" Soul asked, understandably confused.

"Mandy comes here once every few weeks," Jackie whispered. "She doesn't like Kim."

"Kim doesn't like her either," Soul said, watching Kim tersely.

"Normally when we see her coming we try to get Kim out of the way, but when she first came in Kim was stuck in her book and I was in the back…" Jackie sighed. "We'd been doing so well. Mandy even told me how grateful she was that I'd fired her…"

"Really? That's a shitty way to treat someone," Soul said, and Jackie looked at him like he didn't know the half of it. "Is it always this tense?"

"No," Jackie said, "Normally Mandy starts yelling and Kim starts yelling back and cursing. Mandy always swears she's never coming here again until I go offer her ten percent off her purchase. Then we're her favourite shop in the world and it'd be 'such a shame if she had to avoid us', like she wasn't just threatening to take her business to JoAnn's."

"Isn't Kim mad that you take her side?"

"It annoys her, but she knows I only do it to get her to shut up," Jackie nodded towards Kim, who was pressing her lips together in an extreme effort not to offend the Quilter Mom. Mandy was now telling Kim how to run the shop as she packed the brown paper bags with her quilting grade cotton.

Jackie gripped his arm, digging her blunt nails into a long scratch Oni had gifted him. He yelped, but she didn't loosen her grip.

"I don't understand why you would bother selling yarn, it's not as if you are doing any business in that department. If you ask me you should pull out those shelves and have a nice arts supply section!" Mandy said, her voice louder than before, "I know you don't want to disappoint your _boyfriend_ by-"

Soul tugged out of Jackie's restraint.

"We're not together," Soul said quickly.

"Me, with him?" Kim looked offended by the mere idea. "No thanks,."

"Hey!" Soul said. "You could do worse!"

Jackie looked at him like he needed a seminar or two in self-confidence. Soul scowled.

"Well, you know…" Soul muttered. "You could."

Kim still looked sceptical, but declined to comment.

"What kind of- who knits in Nevada?" Mandy asked.

"I do," Soul said, puffing out his chest and trying to channel the juvenile delinquent that upper middle class members had crossed the street to avoid. "You got a problem with that?"

She widened her eyes at him, shocked. He could tell she wouldn't be down for long though. The ball was in her court and she was channeling Serena Williams. Kim folded her arms and nodded at him, bobbing her head frantically.

She was mouthing something. She dropped all semblance of chill and pointed at her arm.

Oh.

 _Sleeves._

Soul crossed his arms and tried to look like he wasn't afraid of no menopausal DIY goddess soccer mom. He was a punk. He was a no good dirty rotten freeloader. He had studs in his belt and drove a motorcycle. He did gateway drugs. He-

"Excuse me? I didn't come in here to be treated- I can't believe you would allow him to be so disrespectful Jacqueline! How can you keep Kim on staff when she persists in being highly unprofessional, rude and dragging her 'it's complicated' relationship status into what could be a perfectly wonderful establishment? I've told you time and time again, if you want this to be a serious business you need to stop hiring such layabouts-"

He wanted to go home.

" _We aren't together!"_ Kim exploded. "Get it into your thick skull that Soul here is just another valued customer!"

Soul thought that in terms of At Knit's End customers, he was MVP. But that aside, he wasn't feeling dumb enough to say it. He kept his arms crossed and his jaw defiant, trying desperately not to look like he was seriously considering fleeing the country.

"Whatever you want to call it, it's still highly unprofessional to have… their type hanging around the store!" Mandy insisted. "They lower the tone of the whole establishment! I demand you fire them immediately!"

"I don't work here," Soul reminded her, he checked the time on his phone. As much fun as this wasn't, he really needed to be grabbing a coffee by now, swinging past Maka's to drop her some tea and getting back to work. Mandy was between him and the door and, for a petite middle aged woman, she took up a lot of space.

"Of course you don't! You'll never get a job with all those tattoos!" Mandy said. She contradicted herself a lot. "And I don't know why you ever hired her! She's rude, unprofessional, downright ignorant."

"That is _enough,"_ Kim said. Soul backed away. He could feel the air, and it was charged with something he didn't want to call magic. (It was probably magic) "You need to leave immediately."

"You can't make-"

"Yes I can! This is my goddamn business! This is my premises, and my shop and Jackie works for me!" Soul eyed her arms warily, she was gesticulating wildly and he needed to be ready to dodge any bolts of lightning. "And furthermore, me and Jackie are engaged! To be married! And this man-" she jabbed a finger at Soul and he jumped a little "-is the goddamn fucking florist from down the road and he likes to knit in Nevada! And so do a lot of people! It's why we sell yarn!"

"I've never-" Mandy spluttered.

"You will never! Go shop at JoAnn's already, Mandy! Stop coming into my shop with your anti-me agenda!" Kim yelled. "I don't fucking need your goddamn patronage!"

Mandy left. The door slammed on her way out and the original stained glass panes wavered dangerously. Kim started scanning Soul's wool, her hand squeezing each skein like a stress ball before shoving forcefully into a paper bag. It tore while she was rolling the ends.

"Here," she shoved it into Soul's chest. He stumbled back, fumbling to catch it before it fell. He dug out his wallet and took out his card.

"Don't bother," Kim said. "We'll be out of business once she tells all her yummy mummy quilting circle book club about this. Fuck you Mandy, people like you are the reason _Fifty Shades of Grey_ is one of the bestselling books of all time."

Soul decided to leave, before Kim decided to literally have his guts for garters or something.

"Have a nice day!" Jackie called.

He could hear her telling Kim it would be okay, no one could possibly like Mandy enough to stand in solidarity with her like that.

 _Jesus. He just wanted some fucking yarn._

He was getting a large coffee today. He'd earned it. He'd gotten in the middle of a blood feud. He was lucky to have made it out alive, unlike Mercutio. He remembered seeing the Baz Luhrman adaptation in cinema when it came out, and more recently, he took Joel to see _Gnomeo and Juliet_ when he was going through an Elton John phase.

Patti looked up when he comes in and elbowed Meme to start making a sweet tea.

"Large today," Soul called, gingerly holding the bag of wool away from him as he walked over to Kidd. He supposed they were buddies now, after being a charades team. After all, he owed the poor guy something after his abysmal guessing.

Kidd didn't look up, he's still enthralled by the binder. He was going through it methodically and adding notes of his own in neat pen, directly on the manuscript. Joel would have never dared mar it like that, Soul's still a little surprised he hadn't been wearing gloves when he'd read it.

Well, apparently it was more like 'went through with a fine tooth comb', but you get the idea.

Soul clears his throat, and then when that didn't work, called his name. There was still no response. Soul snapped his fingers under his nose. Kidd swatted them away, as if Soul was an irritatingly persistent insect instead of a six foot two man.

He knocked over one of the empty cups of tea.

Kidd hand shot out to straighten it, to neaten it and put it back in its rightful place before glaring up at Soul. It took him a second to recognise him.

"How are you Soul?" Kidd said coolly, Soul was not quite forgiven for either letting the side down in charades or moving his cup just now. He probably never would be, if he was honest with himself.

"I'm good Kidd, how's the writing?" Soul was still amazing that someone who sat in a coffee shop all day with the bare minimum of human interaction could be so good with words.

Kidd looked at Soul like he could launch into a long winded, overly verbose and detailed spiel about 'how the writing was going' but that he knew it would be wasted on Soul, who had admitted last night to only having bought them-in audiobook format- at his nephew's insistence. He also knew that Soul's drinks were just about ready, and that Soul would not delay in heading towards the bookshop.

"Soul!" Patti called.

As Kidd had predicted, Soul bid him a hasty farewell before leaving the shop, drinks in hand. After all, he had _places to be._

* * *

They'd had a countdown on the door for the past few weeks. It was probably intended to build hype among locals, but all it did was cause growing unrest among the other businesses as the days ticked down. Soul glared at the sign everyday he walked past, as if he could make it vanish, or at least tick backwards just a few more days.

Today, despite his valiant efforts, the counter had ticked to zero and the doors were open.

A dark cloud had settled over Deathbucks in particular, a dark cloud personified by cheery smiles and exemplary service coupled with the best coffee money could buy. When Soul pushed open the door, Patti grinned so wide that Soul could see more molars than he ever expected.

"Oh," she said, grin faltering. "It's just you,"

Soul kind of got what she meant. He was going to be a customer come hell or high water.

"Gee, thanks for the warm welcome."

Patti smiled again, half as wide and twice as warm.

"Soul special and a sweet tea?" Patti didn't wait for his answer, but snapped her fingers a few times under the sleepy barista in the half aprons nose. "… Meme!"

"Huh? What?" She bolted upright, spine straight enough to rule lines. "Sir!"

"Sweet tea, Meme," Patti ordered, pointing at one of the machines, "Peach syrup."

Meme saluted and then drooped, sleepily preparing the beverage.

"We added you to the board," Patti pointed upwards, turning to brew his coffee.

Soul scanned the chalkboard above the countertop. He hadn't read it in a long time, but he could tell it had been washed and rewritten recently. And there it was written in calligraphy much neater and a great deal more elegant then he ever recalled seeing up there was his name among all the standard orders they did.

 _Soul Special: Patti Makes Whatever The F*ck She Wants And You Drink It…~$5.00_

Soul had never felt so honoured in his life and he has a Grammy under his bed. It's got his name engraved on it and everything. Wes kept his Grammys in a display cabinet.

He was going to Instagram this. He was still angling his phone at the sign when Patti coughed loudly. The drinks were sitting on the counter waiting for him. He snapped the photo quickly, figuring that he could make up for that with careful selection of filters.

"Thanks," He handed her ten dollars and his loyalty card. It's another new one and the corners are still crisp and unboxed. He's up to three free coffees and looking forward to number four. Course, it's not the same, now that he was buying two cups every second day.

Patti stamped it twice, and Soul takes a sip of his coffee-it's scalding hot, exactly how he likes it despite the desert heat and tastes like freshly baked apple pie with a hint of cinnamon. It's like he's back in his Granma's house digging into a pie before it was really cool enough to do so without burning yourself while Wes tutted disapprovingly before joining in.

He had to shake his head to pull himself back to the present.

Patti handed him his change and he flipped the coin in the direction of the tip jar. It bounced off the rim and pinged away into the distance, so he dug out a replacement coin and dropped it in carefully, hoping that nobody apart from Patti was paying enough attention to notice his miss.

He was almost out the door with the beverages when Kidd called his name without looking up from the draft he was working on with the help of Joel's binder. He had a laptop today. Patti told Soul that that meant he was near enough finished the last draft. Kidd only used a laptop for the final draft, it made the manuscript easier to format for printing. Patti also confided that Kidd was a little paranoid about people stealing or leaking his work, so he must have really trusted Soul to give him the binder draft for the thought and opinions of his nephew.

Soul thought that was odd, seeing as that was the second time they spoke and the only other time that they'd spoken he'd been psyching up for a fight and spat orange marmalade flavoured coffee all over him.

"Yeah?"

"Come here," He waved him over.

"Yeah?" Soul repeated, stepping closer.

"Have a seat."

"Okay," Soul sat opposite the author, who seemed to be caught in a train of thought and did not endeavour to begin speaking until a minute or so had passed.

"I need a parent of your nephew to sign this please," Kidd waved an envelope in his direction. "I would also like to bring your nephew on as consultant, sound the need arise, in future publications. As such I will need his parents contact numbers and actual signatures on that document, Soul."

"He's only ten," Soul pointed out, "He can't be a consultant."

"Why not?" Kidd frowned, "He'd be very good at it."

"Uh…" Soul tried to think of a good reason. He didn't have one.

"Excellent," Kidd said, "Take this and pass it on, I'm sure the boy's parents will be eager to discuss the possibility of having their son employed by a publishing house."

Soul took the envelope and tucked it into his jacket.

"I'll get it to them."

He picked up the cups and left; how the fuck was he going to explain to Wes that he not only snuck Joel an advance copy of the next book in the series he really wasn't supposed to be reading, but the author a sort of friend of his, wanted to take him on as a consultant? He was out of the will for sure. And he'd be really looking forward the Nintendo 64 Wes had told him he could have 'over his cold, dead body'.

He pushed into Maka's shop. The cats ignored both him and the tinkle of the dolphin wind chime. Maka didn't ignore him; she looked up and smiled like he was the best thing she'd seen all week. She smiled like that everyday he came to see her. He blushed, noticing her too green eyes crinkle around the edges.

He held the cup of hopefully peach sweet tea out to her and took another swig of his coffee. Looking at her leaning against the wooden counter and chugging on the straw like she was drinking the nectar of the gods almost made him forget all the things wrong with this world.

"Thanks, Soul, you don't have to-"

"Well neither do you, but I don't see either of us stopping anytime soon."

She blushed. Soul liked when he could make her blush, burn a shade of pink that spread across her cheeks and chest and made her titter with embarrassment. Of course, he was nearly always blushing around her too, so they were probably even.

She has a copy of some Regency Period book on the counter, not _Pride and Prejudice_ or _Jane Eyre_ which even Soul can tell are mainstream in terms of the classics. He didn't recognise the title, but he makes a go of squinting at it, but as hard as it was for him to read right side up it's a million times worse with upside down letters, so he let sleeping cats lie and gave up when a rotund tabby came and sat on the book.

Maka would normally shove the cat off, but he was missing most of his ears and one eye so she it seemed to Soul as though she was meditating on the phrase 'pick your battles' and instead stroked the cat, who purred loudly enough that the other cats flick their tails in irritation. Soul reached over and rubbed the cat too, ignoring the jolts of energy he can feel every time his hand brushed hers.

She asked him about Oni, like she always did, inquiring after the cat's health and happiness. Soul used to lie to her about this, but Oni was a demon cat whose short legs in no way impeded his speed and Maka already knew this as it turned out.

"He broke my favourite mug," His second favourite mug, actually, which had been promoted after the tragic loss of his actual favourite mug. He needed to go mug shopping if this was going to continue.

"I thought he did that last week," Maka hmm'ed, unsympathetic to his plight. She picked up her cup and took a drink, making a soft noise of satisfaction in her throat that made his ears burn and his bloob pound in his veins. He's so fucked.

"Maka," Soul whined. "It was my favourite; it said I was the World's Best Grandpa,"

She snorted, a little bit of sweet tea spurting out her nose. Soul was beyond help if he thought she still looked cute with peach sweet tea dribbling out her goddamn nose. Hilarious and like a fucking idiot, but still the cutest thing he'd ever seen. He fished in his pocket for the crumpled handkerchief he'd been trying to keep on his person ever since he officially met Archimedes.

She takes it gratefully, scrubbing her face clean. She put the tea down, too close to the cat for Soul's comfort.

"Well?"

"You're good." _Great. You look great._

She looks at the handkerchief in her hand and frowned. Is she supposed to just throw it away or like wash it and give it back? Is she supposed to wash it and keep it to wave at him? There were unwritten rules about this kind of the thing, the sort of outdated unwritten rules that no one would bother reading even if they were written, owing to the fact they are almost entirely obsolete.

She tucked it into her pocket, wrapping the dry sections around the damp tea stained part. It'd be gross to give it back right now anyway.

"What's his name?" Soul nodded at the cat, noticing how he ignored their beverages like a benevolent god among cats. He scratched behind what was left of his ears gratefully.

"Old Al," Maka answered, "Cause he's like an old Al Pacino."

Soul could see that, the old mobster, past his prime but still more than capable of putting up a decent fight should the need arise. As it is, he seemed content to lie in the sunny patch and steal her attention away from her work and reading.

Maka sighed, a quiet noise of content in the silence.

The floor upstairs was creaking, alerting Soul to the people who have come in to peruse the selection of books and not just pet cats and avoid having important conversations with pretty girls. He liked her, and she liked him. They should probably do something about it.

Soul wasn't a betting man, but he was sure anyone betting on them had some long odds to contend with at the minute.

Someone comes down with what looked like a crate of books stacked in their arms. They tipped them onto the counter, so lost in thought that both Soul and Old Al have to jump out of the way so that Maka can tally up the cost. It was a stack of music books, probably everything she had in stock at the minute. They spilled across the counter, some with shiny unblemished covers and others torn and fanning out in the corners.

Maka totaled it quickly, slipping the books into heavy duty brown paper bags.

The customer- a skinny blond beanpole who made a weak attempt at flirting – piled them back into his arms, but didn't go anywhere.

"What do you play?" Soul said, nodding at the stack of books, eager to diffuse the silence. It was comfortable when it was just him and Maka (and a dozen or so cats) but this guy seemed like the definition of 'three's a crowd'.

"Oh, I play the guitar," He said, looking smug, "I'm actually in a band."

"Do you gig much?" Soul asked. He was probably in a band to try and pick up chicks, and Soul didn't want to break it to him that was a terrible strategy. First of all, it never worked, second of all, when it did work the results were disastrous and scary. Soul's been there, bought the t-shirt, hid the t-shirt under his bed like so many things he didn't want to think about.

"Yeah, actually I have gig tonight in Carter and Ghost, you know, the pub on the corner?"

"The haunted one?" Liz was terrified of going in there. Liz wasn't afraid of much, but the supernatural freaked her out big time. Soul didn't believe in ghosts the same way he didn't believe in witches. That is to say, he was mildly sceptical and eager not to piss anything that might result in his painful drawn out death.

"Yeah," He nodded, shifting his weight and adjusting the stack of books, "I was hoping you would come?"

He wasn't asking Soul.

"Sorry, but music isn't really my thing," Maka said shrugging. "Maybe some other time?"

Soul raised his eyebrows in her direction, stunned that someone could be so indifferent to music, but the guitarist (in a band) seemed like the world had been pulled from under his feet.

"But…"

"I just don't see what the big deal is, you know? I'd much rather sit and read… Are you okay? You look very pale," Maka peered at the guitarist, "Do you need to sit down?"

He nodded, sitting on an already precarious stack of books clutching his purchases to his chest.

"Do you need me to call anyone? Has this ever happened before?" Maka pressed her hand against his forehead, checking if he had a temperature. "Do you want a glass of water?"

Soul snickered. Trust this guy to practically faint when his efforts to get laid were completely blindsided by one pretty bookworm.

"This isn't funny Soul!" Maka snapped. "Hiro, that's your name right? Do you feel dizzy or lightheaded?"

He shook his head, but the dazed expression stayed put. Soul was beginning to feel concern for the guy, and it was putting a dampener on the hilarity of the situation as it stood.

"Uh, what kind of music do you play?" Soul asked, trying to distract the poor guy from fact that both him and his 'passion' had been shot down by the girl who was now considering calling an ambulance.

"Indie rock," Hiro said. "We're called The Dead City Orchestra."

Soul'd heard of them, actually. They were pretty big around the city, although they didn't have much reach outside it. Soul squinted at Hiro, trying to line him up against a blurry, memory of a night out where he saw them live. They were good, as far as he remembered.

"I saw you play at the Halloween Festival a few years ago," Soul said.

Hiro paled again.

"Are you sure you don't want me to call anyone?"

"I'm fine, really! I'll just be going. Now," Hiro gulped. "With my books. That I bought. Because I am a musician."

Maka looked at him like she was still seriously considering calling an ambulance. She nevertheless helped him up – the teetering tower of books he'd been perched on collapsing across the floor – and led him, on unsteady feet, to the door. The dolphin chimed and she stood there, watching him make his crooked way down the street while Soul restacked the books. Having them in a pile on the floor seemed kind of stupid to him, but seeing as the shelves were so full you had to fight to free the literature, it was probably Maka's only option.

"Soul?" Maka asked, distracted, wincing as Hiro collided with a volatile baby boomer. She closed the door to muffle the sound of her disapproval with Hiro's sense of style, life choices and behaviour. Soul found himself agreeing with the criticism.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, you didn't have-" She sighed, the books were stacked now anyway. "Was he really in that band?"

"I don't know, why'd you ask?"

"He bought 'Guitar for Dummies'" Maka said. Soul laughed, loud and hard and knocked over not only the restacked books, but the stack beside it, startling several cats in doing so.

 **Please R &R**


	6. Summer Berry

**Chapter Six: Summer Berry**

School was out of session for summer and Joel was visiting Soul for a few days. Soul didn't know what Wes expected them to be doing, but so far it was hanging out in the shop. He was an easy kid to watch, not prone to exploring or breaking things in way Soul had been at that age.

Well, mostly.

Joel had destroyed Soul's high score on Tetris by the time Marie arrived in, with a baby strapped into a carrier. She hefted it up on the counter and plonked down her binder. It wasn't the healthiest looking baby, a sort of greyish tinge to the skin tone, but it burbled cheerfully at Soul and his nephew. Joel looked unimpressed, and sat back on the high stool and continued making Soul look highly unprofessional.

"So, you got the little fella out eventually?" Stupid yellow dressed babies. Don't blame him for not knowing what they are when you dress them in ungendered colours.

"Oh I did! Isn't she wonderful? I can hardly get my husband to leave her long enough to go to work and he's a forensic coroner in the city-" by that, he assumed she meant Vegas, Death City had a very low crime rate, "- so it's not like he isn't busy, but she's such an angel he can hardly stand to leave her side!"

The angel started crying.

Marie hushed her gently, struggling briefly with the childproof clasp mechanism and scooping her out of the carrier.

"Hungry?" Marie asked gently, popping a boob right out of her top and nursing the baby. She latched on immediately, looking like a tiny grey and yellow parasite. Soul's mind snapped to panic mode – should he cover Joel's eyes? This was what boobs were for, but Joel was only ten. Did Stella breastfeed? Soul glanced at him.

Joel hadn't even looked up from his game of Tetris.

Soul sighed in relief. Also, did that baby have to be so goddamn loud? It was the only sound in the whole shop, practically overpowering his carefully formulated Spotify playlist.

"Anyway, Soul, I was wondering-" Soul looked up as the bells above his door chimed. Shaped like graceful lilies and with a gentler tone than he'd expected, Soul stood by his decision to blow the amount he had on them when he'd stumbled across them on Etsy.

"Marie?" Maka pushed her way in through the door. She was carefully balancing three cups in a cardboard Deathbucks tray in her arms. "Marie, I had no idea you and Adele would here, I'd have gotten you something if I'd known,"

"Oh, Maka it's so good to see you! Azusa told me you seemed to be doing well, but unfortunately I've been too busy to look in on your shop just yet," Marie smiled and Adele pulled away, satisfied. She tucked her breast back into her top and tossed a cloth over her shoulder before beginning to burp her.

"Soul, this is for you-" Maka handed him his usual, it tasted like sea salt ice-cream. A subtler flavour than Patti normally tried on for size, but it was still good. "And Joel, I didn't know what you'd like so I just got you a hot chocolate."

Joel didn't look up, but mumbled a quiet thanks and grabbed the drink. He took a too-long draught of the scalding drink before unpausing the game and going back to smashing Soul's high score.

Maka looked like she wanted to offer Marie her sweet tea, but like she was aware that caffeine and breastfeeding are a huge no-no.

"Oh sweetie, I'm fine, I don't really go in for iced tea anyway you know that… Stein missed you at the lab, you know. He says all his other co-workers are terribly boring, I keep telling him that he should just give them a chance, but that's Frank for you, thinks he has the measure of someone after just one look," Marie smiled fondly. "Of course, he insists he knew you were going to turn out alright the instant he met you, and he wasn't wrong there, now was he Soul?"

"Huh? What?" Soul started, surprised at his being dragged into what appeared to be two former colleagues catching up.

"Our Maka, she's pretty great, isn't she?"

Soul wasn't about to disagree with a woman who had suddenly gained a murderous glint in her eye. Not that he would've disagreed anyway.

"Yeah, she's pretty great," Soul shrugged. "Knows my coffee order and everything."

Maka blushed brightly, ducking her head to hide it.

"Marie, Stein's known me almost as long as he has you," Maka grinned. "Besides, what was he supposed to do, tell his best friends that their baby was going to grow up to be a terrible person?"

"Oh, Maka, he'd never tell anyone their baby was going to grow up to be bad person," Marie sounded like she had her doubts about this statement. "Besides, he promised me Adele is going to be wildly successful in everything she endeavours upon, as long as she endeavours upon Mechanical Engineering…"

"I'm sure she'll be great," Maka said. "Don't you have business?"

"Oh I'd completely forgotten!" Marie shoved her 'bundle of joy' at Maka. "Adele, meet your godmother!"

Maka nearly fumbled the catch, but Marie had turned her complete attention to Soul. "Now Soul, about the Dupree/Diehl wedding, I've finally convinced them that they need more than just the eight bouquets, but it's not much more, unfortunately. Kim's niece is going to be flower girl, although how that's going to work when they both walk in from opposite sides at the same time I have no idea. I'll have to talk to them about something el-"

"Maka are you crying?" Soul interrupted. "Are you okay? Joel, pause that game and go grab a box of tissues, would ya?"

Joel slid off the stool and obediently retrieved them.

Soul was not prepared for this. Maka was crying over a baby, sniffling and tears and shit, shit, shit. What the ever-loving fuck was he supposed to do?

"Marie…" She hiccupped. "I'm so… are you… Are you sure?"

"Oh, my we forgot to ask you didn't we?" Marie said. "I'm so sorry, we've just been so busy."

"Here," Joel handed her a tissue.

"Thanks," Maka said, "Soul, would you mind-?"

Soul took Adele – what was this, pass the new-born life? - and held her, grateful that Wes had shown him how not to accidentally kill a baby when Joel was first born. She looked up at him with big green eyes a little too close in appearance to Maka's and stared and stared. Soul stared back, transfixed and competitive. He wasn't going to lose a staring competition to a baby.

Marie and Maka hugged, Maka crying gently into Marie shoulder, tears of happiness creating a damp patch in Marie's nursing top. Soul hummed quietly, a song he can't tell if he's remembering of making up on the fly. Whichever it is, it feels a little like a blessing and prayer, the best gift that he could offer to his tiny life that someone was stupid enough to trust him with for even a short period of time.

She smiled at him, all pink gums, and he smiled back. She didn't seem bothered by the teeth that had caused orthodontist so much strife. His song faded, and he rocked her in its absence. He wasn't doing so badly at this, for a guy who didn't like babies all too much. Maybe babies were like cats, they either liked you or they didn't, regardless of how you felt about them.

Eventually Maka took back the baby and began talking to her gently, and Marie told him about the pomander for Kim's niece and the flower crowns that would be required for both brides.

"Obviously we'll stick with the scheme we already have…"

Soul wasn't paying too much attention. He managed to jot down a couple of notes, and 'hmm' in Marie's direction occasionally, but the vast majority of his focus was elsewhere. Maka didn't have a way with babies, it seemed.

Maybe it took a while to develop some maternal instincts or whatever, but Soul was going to enjoy the terrified expression on her face while it lasted. If he strained his hearing her could hear that instead of gentle cooing, she was actually summarizing Saturday Night Fever. He could see her wincing as she started to regret whatever choices she'd made that led to her choosing that particular film.

Marie had that same knowing look in her eye. It was starting to get on his nerves.

She snapped her binder closer and shook her head. "I'll email you the details Soul," she reached for her baby, but Maka seemed reluctant to relinquish Adele before getting to the end of the story she was telling.

Marie frowned and Maka kissed the baby's soft downy hair before passing her back to Marie.

* * *

Joel visiting meant two things. It meant that Soul would have to sleep on his hand-me-down couch and that his piano would be well tuned, possibly several times over.

Starbucks opening meant a lot of things, least of all of them was sitting on the floor with a large sheet of poster board making a sign offering ten percent off all freshly made bouquets to customers with Deathbucks loyalty cards (with at least ten stamps) trying to make poster paint look highly professional. Joel wasn't helping, he was too enthralled with meticulously disassembling Soul's upright, but if anyone asked Soul would tell them he'd a big hand in making the thing.

It's been open a few days, and they are doing alarmingly well, sucking customers from Deathbucks like it was a vampire as opposed to a faceless corporation. Soul made a mental note to photograph the building though, just to make sure.

He looked down at his poster and sighed.

He should've asked Star for help. He should've knitted the poster instead of attempting to paint it. And most of all, he should've known that the cat would walk all over it before it was dry and not only smudge the letters, but track the coloured paint across his favourite rug.

Actually, it was his only rug, but in the words of the immortal Dude; it really tied the room together. And now it had little green paw prints tracked over it at an above average frequency, due to Oni's stumpy, stumpy legs. He should've returned that damn cat when he had the chance. Now it lived with him, in his apartment and he had to keep it out of the shop because apparently lily pollen is basically cat arsenic and as much as he hated the damn thing he didn't want it to die.

Even if it did ruin his favourite rug and his valiant attempts at graphic design. Soul had done art in high school, and he'd been good at it. Where had it all gone wrong? He held the poster up to Joel.

"Pianoman, waddya think?"

Joel studied it the poster gravely.

"I think your cat walked on it."

"He did, but y'know, apart from that."

"It's okay," Joel was not one to falsely boost confidence.

Soul groaned and instagrammed the poster, maybe the cat paw print thing would be endearing and at any rate, the craft store was definitely closed by this time of night. Wait, should Joel be in bed? What time did ten year olds go to bed? He should text Wes or Stella, but they'd be mad if bedtime was supposed to be before now.

They hadn't even had dinner yet, it couldn't be bedtime.

He should order in. He'd already had one of Joel's sandwiches today and he wasn't sure another one would be healthy, especially given what was in the fridge.

His phone buzzed, it was a text from Maka. He opened it and picture of the cat pressed up against the door to her shop made him laugh. He showed it to Joel and Oni who cracked a smile and ignored it, respectively. He sent a reply.

 **-how could u leave him like that**

He swiftly followed it up with.

 **-u got dinner plans**

Soul hurried over to his windows, the ones facing out onto the street to try and see her. The angle wasn't great and the streetlights were dim but if he pressed his cheek right up against the glass he could just about see her frowning at her phone and typing. She shook her head, hair waving, and he could only assume erased what she had written so far and started again. She looked paused, looking around for inspiration.

 **-Not yet. Is this an invitation?**

 **-Are you watching me? That's really creepy.**

Soul peeked out the window. Maka waved at him.

Soul jumped back from the window like it had burned him. He yanked the curtains shut, the fabric ripping off the rings at the end. He stumbled onto the couch, and put his head between his knees. Soul took a few deep breathes, trying to figure out what to say that wouldn't make him seem either really stupid or really creepy. And then when no suitable answer came upon him, he took a few more. Then another one. He was going to be sick.

Joel studied him, then went and got a plastic basin from under the sink. Great, he even looked like he was going to be sick. Joel handed him the basin.

"Thanks," Soul set it on the couch, easily within arm's reach. Just in case.

There was a knock on the door. And Soul, like the responsible adult that he was, gestured frantically at Joel not to open the door while he hid behind the couch. This was not cool at all.

There was another knock.

"Open the door Soul," it was Maka. She knocked again, louder this time. "Soul it was a _joke._ "

Joel got up and answered the door, not bothering to look through the peephole to see who it was. That's it, Soul was cutting all remaining ties to his family, they were all cold blooded traitors. He had no family. He was a lone wolf with a florist's. And a cat, he reminded himself, as Oni clawed his stumpy legged way up Soul's couch to perch on his shoulder and curl into the warmth of his neck.

"Oh!" Maka stumbled as her redoubled efforts to knock where thwarted by the sudden absence of a door upon which to knock. "Oh, uhm, hi!"

"He's behind the couch."

"Okay," She said to Joel's back. "Soul?"

He was not leaving his fortress. This was his safe place, where he would forever dwell and send the cat to do the grocery shopping. He had his smartphone and he could reach the remote from here, unless Joel had moved it. His new home was small and the dust tickled his nose, but he could be happy here he was sure of it.

"Soul," Maka said, leaning over the top of the couch to look at him, "What are you doing?"

Her hair was hanging down, and Oni started batting at the golden length of it.

"Uh…"

"Seriously Soul," Maka frowned. "It was a joke, can you please come out for there now? The dust is making me want to-"

She sneezed. It was adorable. Everything about her was adorable and he was so, so screwed. Oni sensed his intention to move and dug his little claws into Soul shoulder.

Soul reluctantly exited his new home to greet his guest in the living room/kitchen of his former home. He'd forgotten how nice it was out here, where he used to live. He looked at Maka, who was dressed for the summer heat in a tank top and gaudy golden bicycle shorts. She was wearing flip-flops and he could see the goose bumps rising on her arms. His apartment was air-conditioned, but apart from that, although it was hot during the day, it could be bitterly cold at night.

"So…" Maka rocked forward on her toes, and then back again, "Do you have dinner plans?"

"Not yet, but I could, uh, make some, real quick," Soul rubbed the back of his neck. "Would you like to be involved in those plans?"

"Do they involve Indian food?"

"I mean, they could, you know, if you wanted?"

"Yes," Maka pinked. "I would like that."

Joel's stomach growled in the background, something the kid himself paid no attention to, but that affirmed in Soul's mind the absolute necessity of feeding the child your former brother has left you in charge of for a weekend. He rushed through the all-important drawer of take-out menus to find an Indian place.

* * *

They were watching the Prisoner of Azkaban. Not the best maybe-date material but Joel was still up so it's not like he could break out Saw IV and have her clutching to him and trying to hide behind him in the scary parts. She didn't seem like the kind of person to do that anyway.

The empty takeout containers were in the bin, and the leftovers were in the fridge for future consumption. There was a plastic mixing bowl on the counter that held some unpopped kernels of popcorn and not much else. Tomorrow's Joel sandwich was going to be interesting.

The totally kid friendly nature of the film didn't stop her from curling up against him. She was warm against him, and it was with great hesitation and more nerves than the thought possible that he'd put his arm around her earlier. She'd snuggled in a little closer when he'd done that.

Joel was focused on the film, piano tinkering abandoned under duress. He was starting to look a little sleepy, and Soul was willing to bet that he wouldn't make the end. As if on cue, he yawned and tugged one of the many knitted blankets over himself. He'd be asleep within fifteen minutes. Thank god Maka had had the good sense to make him put on his mismatched pyjamas before they'd put on the movie.

She slowly scooted closer to him, pulling her knees and feet up onto the couch. Maka groped for a blanket and threw it over them, squirming in against him just as lightning struck on screen. He wanted to pull her into his lap, but instead slung his arm over her when she dropped her head onto his shoulder. He rested his cheek against her head, marvelling at how soft her hair was against it.

The moment is just that, a moment, and it ended when she leant forward to grab the remote from the coffee table. She paused the movie. Maggie's Smith disapproving gaze took up the flatscreen. Soul didn't know what part they were at exactly, but they couldn't have been more than halfway through.

"Joel's asleep," She said quietly. "Maybe you should-"

"I'll put him to bed," Soul stood up. Maka grabbed the blanket before it could fall to the floor, and wadded it up under the guise of folding. "Could you get the door? It's the one on the right."

Maka got up, and crept barefoot across the floor, her flip-flops long since abandoned.

Soul scooped Joel into his arms, his head lolling. God, the kid was heavy. Next time he was waking him up and sending him to bed. Joel slept like the dead, and apparently that included rigor mortis, seeing as there was no way he was letting go of that blanket. Fine, leave him have it. What difference would it make?

Maka had switched on the bedside light and pulled back the covers of Soul's unmade bed. He thought about making a joke about 'finally getting her in his room' but considering the disgustingly domestic context of them putting his nephew to bed, he didn't want to seem gross.

He tucked Joel under the covers, snatching up the spare pillow as he went. He'd need it for his planned night of sleeping on the couch because Joel was both a blanket hog and a kicker. Oni, hopped up on the bed, curling in the crook of Joel's knee and purring like an engine. (An idling tractor engine, to be precise.) Maka was hovering at the threshold of the room, observing him as he gently brushed Joel's fringe out of the way to plant a goodnight kiss on his forehead. He switched off the bedside lamp.

"Hey," Maka said, quietly after he shut the door. "Wanna watch the rest?"

"Yeah, uh, sure," he sat back on the couch and reached over to lower the volume a few notches and unpause the film. Maka took a few seconds to cross the room, before sitting beside him again. There was a space between them now, it felt cavernous, but the truth was that it couldn't be more than a few inches. He missed her warmth, the places she was pressed up against feel so cold now.

She shivered, and Soul reached over and tugged her closer.

Maka leaned in closer again, her head a sudden weight against his shoulder. She sighed quietly, a soft noise of contentment that made Soul wonder what else she could sound like. He absently started stroking the soft bare skin of her arm. She shivered again.

"Cold?" she was wearing golden bicycle shorts and a tank top after all. She shook her head, but Soul grabbed one of the abandoned throws with his free hand anyway and pulled it over them. She settled back against him and mumbled a quiet thanks. He leaned his head against hers and kept tracing slow, soft circles against her bare upper arm.

She sighed again, and Soul glanced at her. The glance became a stare, and he was drinking in her delicate features, gentle curl of her golden eyelashes and the soft pink pout of her lips. Her hair was silk soft against his cheek and he could smell her shampoo and the musty smell of books and cats. It was delicious and Soul turned his face into her hair in order to better capture the strangely intoxicating scent.

Her free hand was playing across the flat planes of his stomach over his faded, aged to perfect softness band shirt. He suddenly regretted not working on his abs in the past five years. She slowly, achingly slowly moved her hand down and it crept under the fabric. He swallowed thickly; he could feel her soft, delicate fingers stroking the trail of hair that led from his navel to places he was trying really hard not to think about right that second. He gripped her upper arm too tightly and learned that even relaxed her bicep felt like corded steel, his free hand clenched into a white knuckled fist under the blanket.

Her green eyes moved away from the television to meet his graze through her soft lashes and there's something dark there, something that added to the smouldering heat he could feel his belly and everywhere that she was touching.

He swallowed again and she leaned away, ever so slightly, to look up at his face. Her hand burned where it stilled against his stomach, but he could still feel the ghosts of the feather light caresses she'd previously been indulging in. She licked her lips and all of a sudden he couldn't stop staring at them.

She bit her bottom lip, before slowly releasing it. Soul wondered if her lips were soft and if they'd taste of the eos lip-balm he'd seen her using. He leaned into her, his nose brushing hers gently. She blinked slowly, her eyes becoming large and round, like she was surprised. Her pupils were so dilated there only a thin band of green iris remained. He moved back an inch, disappointed, and he could see panic flash in her beautiful too-green eyes.

Her palm was pressing into his stomach, and his arm fell away from her shoulder when she leaned up to kiss him. His eyelids fell shut. Her lips were soft and tasted of sharp red fruits and the tart flavour of summer berries when he swept his tongue across her bottom lip. She groaned, her nails digging into his stomach. Her free hand cupped his jaw and she led him onto his back as she traced the seam of his lips with her tongue. He opened his mouth and he tasted of beer and buttery popcorn. The kiss was veering towards hungry just as she pulled away, breathless.

She leaned back to study him, his pupils blown wide and his cheeks flushed. He looked at her like she'd just festooned the stars across the skies. Her chest felt full of air and a low heat coiled in her belly. Egged on by what was pressing hard into her thigh through Soul's jeans, she leaned down and kissed him again soft and open mouthed and a little sloppy. She felt tipsy, even she hadn't taken the beer Soul had offered her earlier. Her other hand joined the one already under his shirt, her nails raking down his chest and catching on the old scar they found there, before hooking impatiently on the waistband of his jeans. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat when she pulled away again.

He reached up a rubbed a thumb across his cheek before leaning up to meet her, nipping her lower lips with his sharp, pointed teeth, before deepening the kiss into something that that burned down his spine. She arched her back towards him, desperate to relieve some of the building pressure and he broke off the kiss, panting. He looked at her for a second that seemed like an eternity, before he tugged the straps of her bra and tank top aside and pressed his lips to where his toned shoulder met her neck and bit it gently with his teeth.

His hands settled on her hip toying with the hem of her shirt before slipping under, his thumbs tracing gentle, maddening circles around the sharp bones of her hips. Maka's nails dug into his back, as his hands moved up, resting on her ribcage, those long pianist fingers stroking hot lines into her skin. He released her neck, admiring the red mark that would become a dark bruise. Frustrated, Maka pulled away, yanking her top over her head, why did he have to be so goddamn slow?

Soul jerked back, surprised at the aggressive behaviour as she tugged his shirt off and threw it to some distant corner of the room. He leaned back, admiring the colour that spilled over from her back and the plain t-shirt bra she wore. It closed at the front, and neither of them made any move to remove it, enthralled by what had already been revealed. She studied his with an expression of great concentration, her hand making its slow gentle way down the puckered scar that bisected his chest.

He grabbed her wrist, tugging her hand away from the old injury. She dragged her eyes away from it to meet his.

"What happened?"

"Motorcycle crash, years ago," his voice was husky. "Don't worry 'bout it."

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to it. He kissed her roughly when she looked up, teeth clacking and noses pressing into each other hard and Maka could definitely tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. She fumbled with his belt and he popped open her bra with surprising ease, groaning when she pressed her chest against him, pushing the soft, small mounds into his hands. He rolled her already erect nipples between his fingers, pulling away from the kiss to stare at them, awestruck.

Maka gasped when she felt his hot tongue across the valley of her breasts and he took one of her nipples into her mouth, cautiously worrying it with his teeth. He palmed the other, soft and heavy in his hand. Her hands abandoned his belt and she wound them into his hair, fingers clutching desperately, pulling too hard while she ground against him.

Soul ears pricked when he heard his name, soft and breathy and caught somewhere between and a prayer and a curse.

He undid the neglected belt with one hand and fumbled with the button fly. Maka tugged on his hair, pulling him away and he released her almost painful nipple with a wet _pop!_ He looked up at her confusion dancing across his face as she swung her leg over and hopped down to stand beside the couch.

He propped himself up on his elbows, staring unabashedly as she hooked her thumbs into her damn gold bicycle shorts, pressing her thighs together. She was about to starting shimmying them down her long legs when she screamed, stumbling backwards and tripping over the coffee table. The empty beer bottle rolled to the floor, but didn't break. Soul stood up, stumbled on his loosened jeans, and made soothing shushing gestures. Joel was asleep in the next room!

"What the fuck is that?" Maka asked, mercifully quiet but still breathless and freaked. Her legs were on the coffee table and she was struggling to stand.

"What the fuck is what?" Soul asked, grabbing the pillow he'd brought from his room to use as a weapon. A highly ineffective one, most likely.

"That, what the fuck is that head?" Maka said, arms clutched over her bare chest. Soul was still glancing around, pillow raised. He saw what she was looking at.

Nothing could kill a mood like the ugliest plant pot Soul had ever seen, sitting on his counter like a vindictive decapitated Goliath.

"Oh, that's Bernard," Soul shrugged. He dropped the pillow and pulled her up. She shoved him out of the way and bent down to grab her tank top, pulling it over head as she took the most direct route to the pot and scrambled over the couch. Soul sighed and walked around it, buttoning his fly as he went.

He grabbed Maka's bra off the floor and offered it to her. She took it silently and continued to appraise the terracotta pot while she put it on under her tank top, using some kind of female dexterity that baffled Soul.

"Where on earth did you get it?" She asked, "It looks so familiar."

 _Yeah, that's because I stole it from your trash._

"I got him, uh, nevermind where I got him," Soul rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around for his shirt. It was lost in one of the dark corners of the open plan room. "I forget."

"I could swear I've seen it before," she said, almost to herself, "It's definitely not a face you'd forget in a hurry."

She snapped her fingers, Soul was tempted to lean over and flip on the light switch.

"There was one just like in the shop when I moved in."

"That's uh, so weird," Soul's ears burned and his face reddened.

"And it's strange, because I remember when I left that evening it wasn't outside with the other… Soul. Soul, is that the same plant pot? Soul, is that the ugly pot I threw away?" she looked at him, and he knew the question was already leaning well into the range of rhetorical.

"Yeah, it's the same pot."

"But why would you take it? It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen, the cats were terrified of it!" Maka said. "Why would you _keep_ it? In your home? Where you can see it!?"

"It was free?" Soul shrugged. "Thought it'd make me look better? Once I planted it was too heavy to move."

She looked at his arms, they weren't noodles, but they weren't exactly 'guns' either.

Maka laughed. Laughed hard. Then started wheezing and struggling to breathe, causing Soul some concern, as she headed to the door.

"Soul if you can't move, we're not… I'm not having sex where that thing can see us," Maka shook her head, laughing still as she put on her flip-flops. "It's watching me; I can feel its eyes following me around the room," her laughter died as she swayed first this way then that to confirm her hypothesis.

"I can put a blanket over it?" Soul said, in the vain hope the night was salvageable.

"That's a tempting offer, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline," Maka looked at the pot and shuddered. "I'm going home."

"You can stay if you'd like, it's late. We don't have to… you know. We can just sleep. You can have the couch?"

"In the same room as that thing?" she hauled open the door. Soul could see her point. He was starting to wonder how he was going to sleep in the same room at it.

"Wait, uh, take this," the maroon cable knit Aran jumper was nearly finished; it just had a few ends to tuck in. It would do for now. He snatched it up and offered it to her. "'S cold out."

"I really can't stay," she kept her eyes on the pot plant like she was daring it to make a sudden move.

She pulled the jumper over her head, and wriggled her arms into the too-long sleeves. She was hesitating, stretching out the goodbye for just a few seconds more. Soul didn't mind, she looked adorable in that too-big sweater and gold bicycle shorts.

She grabbed his arm and yanked him down to her height before pressing a long, lingering kiss to his lips.

"Don't think I won't finish what we started somewhere that thing can't see us," she said fiercely.

The door closed and she left Soul alone, stunned and pressing his finger to his lips, in the dust long before he could ask her to text him when she got home safe.

 **Please R &R. I extra mean it for this chapter. That whole thing before the plant pot, that was hard and I have a great many doubts about it.**


	7. ChocolateCoatedStrawberryFlavouredFudge

**Chapter Seven: Chocolate Coated Strawberry Flavoured Fudge;**

Joel had to roll him off the couch to wake him up in the morning.

"Why is Bernard under a blanket?"

"Huh?" Soul rubbed the back of his head where it had thudded off the floor. "Oh, yeah, uh… No reason. He looked a little cold?"

Joel looked at him like he wasn't buying that, but also like if believing that would make Soul happy then that's what he was prepared to do.

Soul raked a hand through his bedhead, and Joel stared at him expectantly. He was already dressed, and Soul could see that he'd been playing a muted game of Halo. What time did this kid wake up at? Soul opened late on Sundays, but it was probably a good thing he'd woken him when he had.

But Joel didn't know that. Joel would probably never think to wake him for something like work. First of all; his brother and his wife weren't exactly rocking the nine to five lifestyle, and second of all; waking Soul was a Herculean task and a half, so it must have been important. Joel needed something. Something important, but obvious enough that Joel would think it didn't need explaining to his hardly-a-competent-caregiver uncle. Soul glanced around for clues.

"Uhm… " _Think basic human needs Soul- sleep; check, clothes; check, Halo; check, food_ \- "You hungry? Want some breakfast?"

"Can we have eggs?"

"Sure thing," Soul hauled himself up. "Do I have eggs?"

Joel shook his head like someone Soul cared about hadn't made it, like Joel himself could not save them. Soul groped for his wallet and handed the kid ten dollars.

"Go get some eggs and bread and milk, I'mma have a quick shower, there a store right across the street," Soul ruffled Joel's hair, making no discernible difference in the mass of fluff. "Don't let Oni escape."

Joel left, and Soul YouTubed how to scramble eggs, Gordon Ramsey style, before getting in the shower to find a noticeable lack of hot water.

Soul's shower was rickety and stingy with the hot water at the best of times, but in Nevada water shouldn't ever be cold without human intervention. And it was freezing. Dick shrivellingly cold. He swore a couple of times before washing his hair.

It was getting long, he could probably put it up in one of those little buns. He'd read on the internet that they caused baldness, and as much as he elected not to believe in everything he saw online and the fact that it really didn't run in the family (both his grandfathers had thick, healthy heads of hair), it wasn't worth the risk.

Also, he was sure you needed to be a certain level of buff and ruggedly handsome to pull them off. And, he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully; scruff was definitely a prerequisite. Soul kept his face clean shaven at all times to avoid being mistaken for an off season department store Santa.

He rubbed a towel through it and pushed it back out of his face with a thin plastic hairband. Even if he wanted to try the man bun or the 'Small Man Ponytail' he didn't have any of those ponytail holding elastic band things.

He got dressed quickly, mindful that Joel would be home soon, tugging on a clean shirt and yesterday's still-good jeans. There was a stack of mail on the counter next to Bernard, the terracotta traitor. Soul tugged the blanket off, whatever about Bernard being a jerk, the innocent plant acting as his hair didn't deserve death by hand-knitted throw blanket. He flipped through the stack of envelopes, tossing the junk mail where it belonged in the trash before reaching into the cutlery drawer and fishing out a knife to slit open the useful post.

Not that there was much, he had bills to pay - the price of electricity per unit had gone up again, motherfuck -, and a letter from his solicitor reminding him that he should update his will annually, and a heavy, cream hand-pressed parchment envelope. It was more than likely a wedding invitation, one of his cousins was probably getting married again.

How was he supposed to keep track if there was just so many of them? Adelina had a serious boyfriend, didn't she? Adelina would've made him her florist though, no matter what the wedding planner said about his own people. So who was it? Emilio? Grace? Felice? Maria? One of his other twenty something cousins? Maybe one of his high school friends was getting married.

He opened it carefully and slipped the card out. It was heavy in his hand. The calligraphy was printed, but his name was handwritten with a flourish. He scanned the card for the names of the happy couple.

Kim Diehl and Jacqueline Dupree.

Of all the people(cousins, mostly) he'd been expecting, this wasn't- they weren't close or anything were they? He was their best customer and the wedding florist, but they'd never hung out outside of that first Local Business Owners Of Caberallo Street Association meeting and subsequent game nights. Yeah, after charades the first night had been a roaring success, they'd been meeting once a week to play dumb games.

Last week Soul had crushed everyone at cards. Forty-five, Gin Rummy, Old Maid, Whist… He owed it all to his poor, deceased Gram. Soul had to wonder if there were any skills of his she hadn't been instrumental in forming.

But the fact that Soul fucking slayed at being an elderly woman was irrelevant. Kim and Jackie and him weren't exactly buddies. Sure, they actually talked to each other in the shop over his purchases, and Jackie and him had spent almost twenty minutes complaining about yarn-bombing as a trend. It just ended up as a gross, mouldy waste of yarn that some poor guy had to come and snip off. Him and Kim talked about the upcoming adaption of _This Is The End_ which was a weird conversation to have, and who Archimedes Reaper was, which was an even weirder one now that Soul did know who he was.

There'd also been that time when Soul had been caught in the crossfire between Kim and Mandy. He still hadn't touched that probably cursed wool. He wasn't sure if curses wore off eventually or if you have to do something to break them but he wasn't knitting Wes a pair of murderous socks. He wasn't that big of an asshole.

Soul also thought he might have to like, burn the wool to cleanse it or whatever so fuck that he'd rather have the murder socks than waste good wool like that. Was the cursed wool contaminating his stash? Was all his wool cursed now? Fuck it. People had to die sooner or later.

But was this a wedding that he's actually invited to? Not that of a family member who was obliged to have him there, or a family member who'd made him part of the wedding party. Just people who sort of wanted him around to see their special day, enough to feed him. And a guest, if he wanted.

He was going to go.

Joel hammered on the door just as Soul made up his mind to go to that weird pagan wedding. After all, it'd be nice to see his flowers in action and his friends commit to a happily ever after. Yeah, they must be his friends, why else would they invite him to the wedding?

Joel had also bought maple syrup and a carton of orange juice. Soul couldn't have asked for a better nephew.

* * *

It was one thing to have Joel in the shop looking unprofessional and being entirely unhelpful while he was there to serve customers.

It was another thing altogether to leave Joel in the shop looking unprofessional and entirely unhelpful while he bought coffee for himself and the girl who worked in the bookshop.

Soul would never consider himself to be a highly professional and responsible business owner with plans for expansion, but there was a line, and the line fell somewhere around the 'don't leave a ten year old in charge of the shop' mark.

Soul had two options, text Maka and tell her to get the coffee even though that would mean admitting that the fact that they got each other coffee everyday would become an openly discussed issue that they would have to define instead of whatever it was. Or he could send Joel to get the coffee, and to drop the sweet tea off at Maka's. But that would seem like he was avoiding her and- he sighed. The bells above the door tinkled and he looked up.

It wasn't Maka. It was a short, curvy Hispanic woman with close cropped black hair and the kind of falling apart leather satchel that disorganized teachers carry around. She made a bee-line for him, and pushed her white plastic framed glasses up her nose.

"Excuse me,"she said, before she rummaged through her bag and extracted a photograph. "Do you have anything like this?"

It was an old wedding photo, the bride was wearing a simple straight cut dress and a large floppy hat, she was holding it down against a gust of wind. A wedding bouquet dangled from her fingers. She was smiling, caught mid laugh as she and her new husband share a joke. His hair is thick and dark and his eyes twinkle, even through the aged photograph.

"May I?" Soul gestured to the photograph.

"Sure, that is what I brought here it for, after all," she was still hunting through her over full bag, "I thought I put a better one in here-"

Soul squinted at the the bouquet, the photo, though lovely, was not shot by a professional; it was slightly blurred and had faded since it was first printed. The bouquet looked like an yellow/orange smudge. The woman slapped a second photo on the counter-top triumphantly.

The groom wasn't in this photograph, and the bride was blushing, holding up the bouquet to hide behind, her eyes sparkled with mirth. This was the happiest day of her life, and she looked like it. The flowers were clearly visible, and Soul could see that the bouquet was one of orange dahlias and yellow roses. It was bound together simply, the bouquet had been created by an amatuer, albeit not one without skill.

"It's my parents' fortieth wedding anniversary," the woman explained. "I thought it'd be nice to get them a bouquet like Mami's wedding one? We all chipped in to send them on a holiday cruise, but I thought this would be nice too."

Soul thought it was a wonderful idea.

"I'll put something together," Soul said, "Do you want a wedding bouquet or a regular one in the same flowers?"

"Oh, a regular one please, wedding bouquets die too fast," the woman said. She knew her stuff.

"Well, it looks like dahlias and yellow roses," Soul said, "I have those in stock and I'll be right back."

He grabbed the photo from the counter.

Dahlia were beautiful flowers for wedding bouquets, with good strong stems and bright blooms that were available in a variety of colours. In the tunnel, Soul cut a choice selection of both flowers and a number of waxy eucalyptus leaves.

He glanced down at the photo before starting work on the arrangement, doing his best to imitate the positioning of the flowers in the original bouquet. Satisfied he'd retained the energy and promise that the wedding bouquet had originally represented, he carefully placed it in Joel's handpainted pot.

He wrapped it in clear cellophane and cut a piece of thick white satin ribbon to hide the elastic tie he was using to hold the pocket of water together. He tied it in a overlarge floppy bow, while he used his bouquet pricing formula to calculate the price.

He brought it out to the front counter, gauging her reaction.

Her smile was broad and genuine.

"Oh, it's perfect, Mami will be so pleased!" she took the bouquet, then laughed and put it down on the counter to dig out her purse. Soul reached out the steady the unstable bouquet.

"That'll be $43.80. Do you have a Deathbucks loyalty card?" Soul asked.

"I do, somewhere…" she dug in her purse for a minute, and pulled out a handful of loyalty cards to various establishments. "Oh, I just love it there, even if it makes me feel like a white girl… But the coffee is just so good and strong, who could blame me? Why do you want one?"

"There's a ten percent discount to anyone with ten stamps, if you want to trade it in?"

"What? Why?" she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Well, it's part of an incentive thing to get people to go to Deathbucks instead of Starbucks," Soul explained. "Most of the stores on the street are doing some deal or other, and we get to trade the cards we collect for free coffees…"

"Do you have many yet?"

"No,"

"How can I say no to that?" she handed him the card and he tucked it under the counter before taking the ten percent off, and then an extra five percent off for her parents good marriage.

She left, bouquet in arms.

"Joel!"

"Yeah?" Joel didn't look up.

"I got a free coffee!" Soul waved it at him. "Look at it."

Joel glanced up briefly.

"Get your coat- no wait never mind it's a hundred degrees out there don't get your coat, that's a stupid idea," Soul hopped the counter, and didn't even knock anything over, "C'mon we're cashing this in."

"Do I have to come?"

"Yeah, there's someone I want you to meet."

He still needed to give Stella that letter.

Joel's eyes widened as he remembered just who Soul had told him lived in the coffee shop. He hopped off the stool with such enthusiasm that it fell over and didn't waste time trying to right it again before trying to vault over the counter like Soul had.

He was not quite as successful, knocking over Soul's jar of cards on pointy metal spikes and not quite managing to get over the top without Soul reaching out and giving him a hand.

Soul didn't bother taking off his floral apron, there was no time! He had free coffee to claim and a ten year old kid to introduce to his hero.

He locked the door carefully behind him, noticed his wallet sitting on the counter, unlocked the door behind him, went in and got his wallet, then locked the door again. Joel waited patiently throughout this entire process.

His hands fluttered at his sides and there was a definite spring in his step, Soul noticed that he was getting tall too. He'd be taller than Wes when he was older, maybe even as tall as Soul himself. Unless his mother's side of the family dragged him down. Now that was a crowd of shorties. They made Black Star look tall.

Soul wanted to stop in and wave his free coffee in Black Star's face, but Joel dragged him past the door without so much as a second glance. He dragged him past Maka's shop even faster, aware of the potential roadblock she was. Joel was single-minded in his determination to get to Deathbucks and meet his hero.

Well, Soul was pretty sure he was Joel's hero. But there was a difference between being a hero that was a florist with a Grammy and an evil pet cat that you could call on the phone and being a hero that was a Pulitzer Prise Winner and already had stellar ratings on the HBO adaption for television series despite there only being three episodes out far. And that difference seemed to be measured in 'likeliness to have arm removed from socket on the way to meeting them'.

The chalkboard door banged against the wall when Joel violently shoved it open. He rushed to the centre of the coffeehouse for the best vantage point, relinquishing Soul's arm. The door swung back and nearly smacked Soul in the face. Joel looked around, like he wanted to demand answers, but there wasn't a whole lot of people in the shop and he used his powers of deductive reasoning to establish that the the strange looking man hunched over the Macbook Air and the the fat binder was the person he was looking for.

He walked quickly over, bumping into several stray pieces of furniture on the way, Soul hurried after him, signalling to Patti that he'd be over in a minute. She looked disappointed that she wasn't his first choice for interaction. She snapped her fingers under Meme's nose to keep her focused while she waited. Tsugumi squeaked as Joel nearly knocked her over and Anya shot him a glare as she hurried to help her.

"Sorry!" Soul said as he passed, chasing after his nephew, who was like a ten year old possessed. "I'm really sorry! He's just excited!"

Soul grabbed Joel by the shoulder and reeled him back in just as he got to Kidd.

"Whoa, kid, slow down!" Soul said. "You'll scare him."

Joel seemed doubtful, and Soul sighed. Hopefully Kidd wouldn't like, freak out all over his nephew. He was a weird guy. He always kept his tea mugs in the exact same spots, Soul could see the even rings scarring the table. He'd stopped using the take away cups, or else the staff had started refusing to give them to him. Soul didn't know.

Soul rapped gently on his head. Joel gasped in shock, but Soul didn't feel like going through the gentler motions of pulling Kidd out of his writing. They never worked anyway, so why bother?

Kidd looked up, scowling at Soul like he'd just interrupted him, even though Soul or Maka(who still hadn't figured out who he was, to everyone's amusement) always came in to chat around this time so they had to be as much a part of his routine as Tsugumi attempting to clear away his used cups was.

"Hey Kidd."

"Soul, I was writing."

"You're always writing," Soul pointed out, ignoring Joel tugging on his sleeve. "There's someone I want you to meet-"

Joel shoved him out of the way to goggle at Kidd.

"You're Archimedes Reaper," Joel was awestruck. "Your hair is weird."

Tsugumi dropped the mug she was holding and it splintered on the ground. No one moved a muscle, not even to clear away the dangerous shards of ceramic.

Kidd suddenly clapped a hand to his hair to hide it from view, and Soul clapped a hand over Joel's mouth to prevent the topic advancing. Kidd was very sensitive about his hair, for reasons Patti wouldn't divulge. Liz said that it was "just one of those weird character quirk things, it'd be endearing if it wasn't so fucking annoying, just don't bring it up Soul," and then "I mean it Soul don't fucking bring it up, it's not open for discussion" and then she'd threatened him some more. Soul wasn't about to disagree someone who admitted to being named after a gun.

Joel licked his hand, but Soul was made of stronger stuff and held on.

"Joel, that's disgusting. Also. Be polite," Soul cautiously released him. "Anyway, Kidd, this is Joel. He's a big fan."

Kidd gestured for him to sit across from him and pushed the laptop to the side, before slamming the heavy binder on the table and flipping it open.

"Joel, I need further clarification on sticky note yellow 32-"

"Have fun," Soul really needed his free coffee. They'd keep each other busy, and hopefully Joel wouldn't bring up anymore taboo subjects, like why he hung out in the coffee shop. Soul tried to think of topics that weren't on the 'don't mention to Kidd' list. You could request a copy at the counter.

"Hey Patti," Soul said, stepping around where Anya was sweeping up the coffee mug shards and Tsugumi was wringing her hands nervously to the side and apologizing repeatedly. Liz was there too, having appeared from the office to make sure no one was hurt.

"Soulie, you're causing an upset," Patti chided, but her eyes were bright and she smiled over his shoulder to where Kidd and Joel were chatting animatedly. Soul glanced over his shoulder to check on them and shot Joel and unnoticed thumbs up.

"Can I get-"

Patti waved Meme over and told her to make a sweet tea with red berry syrup and began concocting something for Soul, without consulting him on any level. Just the way he liked it.

"Can I get a hot chocolate as well?" Soul asked, nodding at Joel.

"Anya?" Patti called, "Can you make a hot choc for me?"

Anya frowned but moved behind the counter, while Tsugumi and Liz continued observing Kidd and Joel interact with fascination.

"And look!" he whipped out the loyalty card he'd gotten earlier. "Look! She said she loved you guys."

"Hey, no worries, we'll get you one free," Patti grinned, shaking a jar of something pink in colour. She placed it under the steam nozzle and turned it on. "You're not the first."

Soul scowled, but he was glad that the incentives were taking off, Starbucks seemed too busy for his liking. He didn't want to be 'that guy' but he really felt like throwing a brick through their storefront, right in that smug mermaid's face. He scowled out the window at Starbucks.

"Here you go," Patti placed his drinks on the counter in front of him, and waited patiently while he took a photo for Instragram.

He took a carefully sip of his then put it down and squinted at it.

"Patti?"

"Soulie?"

"Have you ever read _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_?"

"No," She giggled, and Soul could tell she was lying.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"I mean, I guess that means that this isn't Chocolate Coated Strawberry Flavoured Fudge Coffee doesn't it?" he raised an eyebrow at her.

Patti just laughed at him. Soul rolled his eyes and grabbed the tray of drinks. It was best just to leave her when she got like this, otherwise he'd just end up frustrated.

"C'mon kid- not you Kidd- we better go,"

"He can stay," Kidd said. "Can't he Liz?"

"Can I Soul?" Joel pleaded, jutting out his lower lip and making his eyes all buggy and not at all cute or winsome like he'd intended.

Soul looked at Liz, who sighed and nodded.

"You can stay, but only if you don't fuck anything up," Soul said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed. He really wasn't supposed to swear in front of his ten year old nephew. His impressionable ten year old nephew. Wes was going to be so pissed when he found about this. About everything. Fuck Wes, he'd rented his real estate opportunity to fucking Starbucks. Soul didn't owe him shit.

Stella'd be pissed though, but she was too nice to say anything about it. Soul was pretty sure she knew that Joel was fairly up to date with _This Was The End_.

He plopped Joel's hot chocolate on the table.

"Don't waste it, I'll come get you at lunch time."

"Do you have to?"

"Joel you're going home today. Wes is coming to get this evening."

"I'll take him out to lunch," Kidd offered. Soul looked doubtful. He felt doubtful. Kidd didn't exactly give off the responsible adult vibe, not that Soul was one to talk about public appearances. "Is Wes your father? I'd like to meet him."

Great. Fucking Great. Wes was going to meet Kidd, who Soul was leaving alone with his son. Who was also the author of the books his son was most certainly not allowed to read. Jesus fucking shit.

"I'll call you to and you can stop by for lunch Soul, you go drop off that," Liz said. "Maka's waiting."

And now he had to go talk to Maka. Great.

With the day he was having- with his storybook coffee flavour and his impending doom when Wes found out that Soul had been smuggling his son age inappropriate reading material- this could only end badly.

Soul read the sign she had, offering various rewards to Deathbucks loyalty card holders before shouldering the door open and slipping inside as the dolphin wind chime tinkled softly.

Maka's shop was empty except for a lone browser who was far more interested in following a particularly aloof cat around and calling softly after it then perusing the selection. Soul recognised the cat as Blair, the only cat in officially permanent residence.

Maka was reading a dog eared copy of Bram Stoker's _Dracula_ and wearing the cable knit jumper he'd pushed into her hands, it was making her disappear into the back wall of her shop a little. He put her sweet tea on the counter in front of her, clearing his throat. He eyed the jumper blatantly.

"I'll give it back!" she clutched at the sleeves like the only way he would ever get it back was if he pried it from her cold, dead, arms. "... Eventually."

"Keep it."

Maka pinked, the colour complimenting the handmade cable knit jumper all too well. How had he ever thought he was going to get it back when she looked that cute in it? What if he made a second jumper, one that was just for her… Maybe something in a baby-soft yellow. No, that would never work; he just wanted to knit her more things to wear, like an elderly lady marking her territory.

He shook his head to clear it of such notions, and took a sip of his ridiculous coffee. It was good, but that didn't change the fact that it was ridiculous.

"Hey," Soul said, unsure of how to start a conversation that wouldn't end in disaster. She grabbed her tea and took a long draught, possibly to delay any further conversation. He waited, glancing around for a copy of Roald Dahl's classic piece of literature for Instragram purposes. He'd been slacking on his aesthetic coffee cup photos lately.

Maka put down the cup, but didn't let go of it.

"Hi," She smiled at him like she had a secret, and Soul felt like the best part of her day. He blushed, remembering why he'd stuck to instrumental music. That had been sappy as shit and he felt cheesy as fuck. "How's Bernard?"

He blushed, hard, and spluttered in her direction. He was having a moment of like bliss or peace or whatever and she had to bring that fucker up? Soul had seen the error of his ways, god fucking dammit, he woouldn't rescue any more ugly head shaped plant pots. Why must the world continue to inflict such terrible punishment on him? He went to church(sometimes) and prayed(occasionally) and gave money to charity. He was a good person. He didn't deserve this.

Maka laughed at his discomfort, and leaned over the counter to better observe it.

"Tch, you know, uh…" Soul took a thoughtful sip of coffee in a bid to recover. The drink didn't seem half as warm as the back of his neck. "Do you, uh, have a copy of _Charlie and The Chocolate Factory_?"

"I'm not sure," Maka admitted, looking around quickly,"I can go check, though. Why do you need one? You aren't much of a reader…"

"You said audiobooks count!" Soul shouted at her retreating form.

The woman coaxing Blair to her glared at him as the cat scampered away. Soul wanted to tell her to find another cat to pester, the Blair was haughty and aloof, but there was a certain level of pride associated with winning over a cat. Oni still liked to perch on his shoulder like some kind of absurd parrot and Soul liked the stumpy legged accessory, even if he had hissed at the delivery person last night. He was very territorial.

Maka jogged down the stairs again, without a book.

"I'm sorry Soul I can't-" she reached behind him and grabbed Something, tugging it free from the shelf with practised ease. Utilising the Something, which felt awfully like a thin paperback copy of a certain children's classic, she smacked his head. It made no discernible difference to his hair.

"It was right beside you, dummy," Maka said, dropping it on the counter in front of him. "How hard did you look?"

"Not very."

"Soul!"

Soul smirked, too preoccupied with aligning the coffee cup and the book in frame neatly to come up with a clever quip. Besides, sometimes silence said more than words ever could, a principle Soul had been relying heavily on for most of his life.

"Why are you taking a photo of your coffee with _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_?" Maka asked.

"Taste it," Soul didn't look up, picking a filter was a crucial part of instagramming, or even electing to go #NoFilter. And the caption, this was going to be a toughie. He had to really get the absurdity of the situation across to his followers, whilst simultaneously making them envious of his lifestyle.

"Soul."

Soul didn't respond.

"Soul."

Nothing.

"Soul!"

She smacked him with the book again, hopefully harder than she intended to cause damn, did that sting.

"Soul, it tastes like… Soul this is amazing!" Maka said, drinking more of his coffee than he really would have liked. He tried to ease it from her grip, but she was unwilling to release it. Repeat: Coffee at stake, requesting immediate backup.

"Maka… Maka…" he whined. He was a grown man. He ran a successful business. He had a Grammy. He was a human being with dignity and pride. He was fully prepared to beg for the return of his coffee if that was what it would take. "Please, Maka, give it baaaack…"

"Letting me taste this was your mistake," Maka shook her head sadly, "But I'm a pretty nice person, so I guess I could give it back…"

"Please!" Soul said, too quickly. He needed that. People who shop at second-hand bookstores filled with semi-friendly cats were not confrontational people. People who shop at florists were often stressed and eager to take it out on innocent salespeople.

"What will you give me?"

A braver, sauver and cooler Soul might have done a lot of things. He might've kissed her, or taken her out for drinks. He might've invited her over for dinner now that Joel was leaving. He might've promised to destroy Bernard in a reckless, dangerous way.

The Soul that was, blushed and spluttered and allowed his iPhone to slip through his fingers.

He made some indistinct vowel sounds.

And then he made some indistinct consonant sounds.

He slumped over the counter in defeat, burying his head in his arms to cover as much of his blush as he could.

Maka laughed at him, but there was a note of hurt in her voice when she leaned over and promised to return his coffee if he came out. He folded his arms tighter and hunched his shoulders, before taking a few deep breaths. He raised his head slowly, taking a careful peek to scope out the potential hazards, but squawked and stumbled back when he realized that she was entirely too close and remembered that her eyes were entirely too green. He could feel that shade of green shooting electricity down his spine.

He succeeded in knocking over a mug of pens and one of the stacks of books heaped on the floor in his fluster, hurrying to repair the damage while startled cats bolted, knocking over more piles of books. He heard Maka hop over the counter, but didn't look. Her eyes were still too green and he needed a minute to recover.

She moved around him, cats clustering around her, rubbing against her ankles for comfort and curling around her when she stooped to restack one of the piles of books. She comforted them in a soft, low, voice, wincing slightly as one of them dug its claws into her back. He looked away before she noticed him staring, but he could tell by the curl of her lips in the corner of his eye that he'd been entirely fruitless in that venture. He restacked the books haphazardly, in a piles that were sure to topple in the next gust of air; taking care though, to ensure that the spines were facing outwards for the casual browser's convenience.

He stood up quickly when the task was done, grabbed his coffee and looked down, focusing instead on the abandoned copy of _Dracula._ Maka returned to the edges of his vision.

"I'm sorry for… y'know…." he gestured at the restacked books and the disquieted felines. "That."

"Don't worry about it," a silence gaped, and Soul could tell she was gnawing at her lip, struggling to phrase something just right. "Soul, why won't you look at me?"

"You look nice today," he said, blushing harder than he'd ever imagined possible and ducking his head into his shoulder.

She squeaked, and Soul glanced up to see that she had tugged the collar of his jumper up to hide her face. An indistinct mumble emerged from the wool. He cocked his head, and she repeated it, louder.

"You too."

Soul's phone buzzed across the counter, the text was from a number he didn't recognise and comprised of one word and a single emoji. The word was 'run' and the emoji was that little running man dressed in the red shirt and the jeans that even an idiot like Soul knew was not good sportswear.

"Hey, Maka do you recognise this number? Five-five-five-one zero-" the bell chimed and Maka looked up just as the door smacked into the adjoining wall loudly.

"Soul."

Soul wheeled around to look his astronomically pissed brother in the eyes. Wes was positively quivering with rage, and Joel was nowhere to be seen. Patti was outside the window, signalling frantically at her, her phone, him, his brother and then miming running. Kidd was with her, enraptured momentarily by the signage, but Patti tugged him forward and pointed at him again, then mimed writing, the held her hand at about hip height before pointing frantically again. She shook her head, blonde hair springing free of the stubby ponytail she'd had it in.

She sighed, and took a deep breath. Soul could hear both of these through the glass so there really was no need for her to yell.

"Soul-" Kidd, with the most presence of mind Soul had even witnessed from him, slapped both hands over her mouth and hissed at her to 'hush up'. Her eyes widened and she started texting frantically.

Soul's phone was buzzing across the counter top, loudly and repeatedly. He didn't get a chance to read any of Patti's frantic messages, interspersed no doubt with comments by New York Times Bestselling Author Archimedes Reaper, as Maka snatched his phone and shoved it in a drawer, muffling the sound considerably.

"Soul," Wes repeated, unaware of the spectacle happening behind him. Soul tore his eyes away from the antics outside just as Stella arrived with Liz, two still new people and a sullen ten year old wearing what Soul recognised as Liz's favourite pair of noise blocking chunky headphones for listening to music while working in the back office.

They'd left the shop in the hands of Meme, Tsugumi and Anya, something Soul could only hope wouldn't result in complete disaster, like this conversation was about to.

"What in god's name did you think you were doing!?" Wes said. "You know those books are totally inappropriate! Not only did you find and locate an illegal advance copy from some strange man who claims to be Archimedes Reaper-" Maka gasped, finally putting it together-" of all people in a coffee shop, and give it to my ten year old son, you introduced them, and left him in his care, with a couple of baristas and Liz goddamn Thompson and her sister? Soul in what part of your brain did that seem like a responsible idea?"

 _The best part._

Teenage Soul responded sullenly in his head, hopefully not out loud. Present day Soul had to agree with some of his points. He searched for an answer that might convince Wes to let Joel stay with him again sometime before he turned eighteen. He was curious as to why Liz was 'Liz gaddamn Thompson'.

"Wes, they're my friends-," the argument was brushed away when Wes started again.

"Jesus Christ Soul! You left him with the goddamn Brooklyn Devils!" Wes said. "Did you even know that? Did you even know your friends are wanted criminals?"

Soul's phone buzzed again in the drawer, loud in the gaping silence.

Liz flicked her hair proudly over her shoulder, her jaw high in the air like she was above getting involved in Soul's insane family drama, no matter how eager she was to find out more about Soul's pre-Caberallo Street life.

"Soul, I've supported you your entire life, backed up every dumb decision you ever made and you leave my son in a goddamn coffeehouse that's a front for a fucking drug ring with a nutjob who thinks he's an author?"

Soul's phone buzzed loudly, the drawer rattling in its frame.

"And pick up your goddamn phone for once in your life!"

"It's not a drug ring," Maka said, jutting out her chin. "The coffee's too good."

"Yeah! Our coffee's great! We went straight a lot time ago!" Patti yelled through the glass before Kidd could stop her. "We haven't terrorized anyone 'n years!"

Soul had no idea what direction this conversation had taken a turn for, and when he glanced out of the corner of his eye, he could see Maka googling 'brooklyn devils' under the counter. She gasped at whatever search results came up.

Soul started stuttering.

Liz needed her temples and pushed the door open, shrugging out of Kid's frantic grip. She didn't want to tell with this, but she wasn't about to be shown up by some new kid on the block when it came to defending her legitimate, above-board and total legal business practises and rescuing Soul's sorry ass from various deep wells including 'family issues', 'big brother issues' and 'inferiority complex'.

"I had really hoped you guys weren't related, you know that? In the whole goddamn USA you too had to be fucking brothers, didn't'cha?" Liz sighed. "Wes, me'n'Patti walk the straight and narrow now, but you don't get to dredge up the past just because your idiot brother's our friend. I'd wouldn't say we were ever friends, but we damn sure as shit weren't enemies Wes. I'd say we parted on good terms even. I hope you aren't planning on changing that."

Soul wanted to shrink into the ground. It was bad enough knowing that his brother had pulled Stella, who was kind and believed the best in everyone, but Liz? Soul didn't like to use the word conquest, but he knew from a backroom tryst a few years ago that was exactly how Liz viewed men. Wes and Liz had happened more than once, while they were both fully sober probably.

He'd probably been her booty call.

He felt a little sick. He wanted to be an adult about this, but he avoided thinking about his brother and sex at all costs, even if it occasionally meant pretending that Joel and those other two kids were adopted.

Maka reached across and patted his hand soothingly.

Liz and Wes. Wes and Liz. Liz and Patti, the Brooklyn Devils(whatever that meant). Liz murdering Wes. Wes murdering Soul. Soul never seeing Joel again. Wes being pissed at Soul after his death because he willed everything to Joel because he hadn't taken his solicitor's advice about updating his will annually and left nothing for his other two whatever they were's.

"Your son was having a great day, and any kid as smart as him could have those books without an adult's help," Liz said, a note of warning in her voice. "Now you can go get dinner with your brother, or whatever else it was you came here for-way earlier than expected- or you can go home. But don't be a little bitch about it, Wes, cause we don't have time for that kind of bullshit here, we're busy trying make an honest living. All of us."

"I will talk to you later, so pick up your phone when I call," Wes growled at Soul. Maka slid the phone across the table to Soul, he had over a hundred texts from a number he now knew was Patti's. He knew he'd regret giving it to her on that board game night a few weeks ago. "Liz, I apologize for the things I said. It was… unfounded, and I'll hope you'll forgive my misplaced anger."

"You were worried about your kid, I get it. I worry about mine too."

"You have kids?" Wes softened at the idea of motherhood appealing to someone as tough and unforgiving as Liz.

"I have this crowd of idiots, same difference."

 **Please R &R**


	8. Amortenia

**Chapter Eight: Amortentia**

Soul clicked the home button on his iPhone, banishing the Wedding Attire Pinspiration Board before anyone could see it. Knitted ties were a Thing now, and Soul knew he had enough maroon wool left to make one, so that was cool. He fished it out from under the counter where he had left it and pulled up a free pattern, casting on the stitches quickly. Seed stitch, yeah that'd be cool, a nice contrast of texture.

It wouldn't take anymore than a half an hour to finish it, by his reckoning.

He was going to need a linen suit for the wedding this weekend, so he either needed to check his wardrobe, or plead with Wes. Or ask Stella to nab him something. Designers were practically throwing suits at Wes. Even if he was still pissed about the whole 'inappropriate reading material enabling' thing. And he was, by all accounts, very pissed about that.

Soul might need new holiday plans.

He should probably just buy a suit.

But, after being chewed out for over an hour on the phone and it might've lasted longer if Soul's phone hadn't died, he knew that all that rage had dwindled from a vast blazing inferno to a handful of embers. It wasn't hard to get embers burning bright again, so Soul was counting on Stella, reprising her role as the Voice Of Reason, to completely extinguish them by reminding Wes that Soul had made Joel so happy with the advance copy and that select, favourable lines from his critique were going to be on the cover of Archimedes Reaper's next book.

The supplies for the wedding had arrived today, and Soul would put them together, all eight bouquets, two flower crowns and a single pomander. He was looking forward to making the actual bouquets, he hadn't made a wedding bouquet in a long time, and he found the process strangely relaxing.

The tie should be done in about few minutes, but with the amount of time Soul was spending glancing at the door it was taking significantly longer. Maka was running late. Not that it was a thing that he was expecting coffee right at eleven every second day, but she was very consistent. She was five minutes later than she normally was on her day to buy the coffee.

Maka pushed in the door, and marched up to the counter purposefully. She was wearing his jumper again, with a short skirt and loud boots. There was a notable absence of takeaway cups in her hands.

"I would like a bouquet."

"Anything in particular?"

"No, just, something pretty," Maka said. "And you, know. Study."

"Okay, alright-" Soul held up a bouquet of daisies. "How about these?"

"No, I think, uhm, actually like a plant?"

"So a plant?" Soul asked. "How about an orchid?"

"Perfect, how much?" she hefted the pot in her hand, testing it like a blunt instrument. Soul reached out and took them from her, placing them safely back on the counter. He was beginning to have doubts about Maka and her ability to care for an orchid.

"On the house," Soul said, because that was like giving her flowers without actually giving her flowers.

"Okay, alright. Uh, this are for you."

Soul stared, utterly bamboozled. She shook the flowers in his direction, shedding a few petals. He took them back, still confused, but now with an orchid plant. Surprisingly, this didn't make him feel any better.

Maka cleared her throat, blushing.

"I would like to go on a date."

Soul stared.

"With you," she clarified. "And me, together."

"Me?"

"Yes. I just said that, keep up," she looked at him expectantly.

"Oh, right, yeah, uh, I'd like that."

Maka beamed, rocking forward on her toes a little.

"Can I have the flowers back?"

"What? But you gave them to me?"

"Yeah, but you have loads," Maka pointed out. "It'd be like you giving me a book."

"You love books, you would be over the moon if I gave you a book," Soul handed back the flowers. "Whatever, take them. What's the plan?"

"For the date?" Maka asked and Soul nodded, "Well, I was thinking we could go buy coffees and then drink them."

"So like what we do everyday."

"In Deathbucks. In mugs. Maybe with some cookies. And it'll be a date."

"When?"

"This weekend?"

"I can't- I have to go to a wedding..."

"So do I, actually," Maka remembered, blinking. "You know Jackie and Kim from the apothecary-crafty store place? They're getting married!"

"Yeah, I know," Soul said, feeling slightly put out. "I'm going to it."

"We should hang out, at it."

"We should."

"I guess I'll see you there then," Maka frowned, like she was thinking had about something. "So, I guess this weekend doesn't really work, since you'll be doing floral stuff… how about now?"

"Now, like right now?" Soul spluttered. "Now as in in right this second now?"

Maka nodded like that was supposed to be obvious, which to be honest, it was. She headed slowly towards the door.

Soul followed her out the door, and he barely remembered to lock it. Maka jogged ahead to stash her daisies, before falling into step with him once again.

Soul was contemplating holding her hand, hyper aware of how it bumped against his as they walked. He ran a cautious thumb over his palm - callused and not as soft as he might've liked, but not clammy or damp with nervous sweat. He reached over and grabbed her hand, fumbling a little as they laced their fingers together. She squeezed his hand, like she was glad it was there.

She pushed open the chalkboard door, smudging the creative rendition of an elephant. A pink blush dusted her cheeks but she was staring resolutely ahead. Patti looked up as the bell and squealed, tugging frantically at Meme's sleeve. Anya clamped her hand over Tsugumi's mouth to stem a similar reaction.

Kidd appeared blissfully ignorant of the proceedings, something for which Soul was grateful.

"For here or to go?" Patti blurted out, springing up onto the balls of her feet. "Actually, we don't have any take-away cups!"

"They're right here," Meme said sleepily, pointing at the stack of cups. "And there's more'n the back."

"No they aren't!" Tsugumi pushed the stack over. Soul could hear the papery thunk as they hit the floor. "There's absolutely no take-away cups you'll have to drink it here we're uhmm…"

"Deeply apologetic about the whole situation," finished Anya, rolling her eyes at the whole situation. Soul found himself wondering how she put up with this on a regular basis. How was Deathbucks still open with a staff this absurd? "One sweet tea and one Soul Special?"

"And a- " Maka glanced at Soul, who was still blushing deeply red and had his shoulders hunched, unwillingly to speak to anyone. She sighed. This date was going swimmingly. "And a _What's Up Doc?_ please?"

"Coming right up. You two take a seat and we'll bring them over." Anya said. "Anything else?"

"We're good," Maka hauled Soul over to the seating at the glass front.

They sat, looking anywhere but each other and trying desperately to avoid overhearing Patti squealing about the fact that they were holding hands. They focused out the window instead, looking directly across the street at the root of all evil. A quote about staring into the abyss drifted to the forefront of Soul's mind, but he wasn't confidant enough in his recollection of it to attempt whispering it to Maka.

" 'He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster'," Maka whispered," 'And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.' "

Goddammit, he'd had it. He should've said it. Maka would've ate that shit up, and now all he could do was nod like a fucking idiot. She probably thought he didn't get the reference. He did. Sort of. An author he liked had used the quote as some kind of foreshadowing in one of his books. Soul scowled, pouting at his reflection before looking past it to the people walking on the street outside. Not that there was many people to watch, it wasn't particularly busy today, for whatever reason.

Soul glared at the woman coming out of Starbucks. Fuck her and her overlarge sunglasses and floppy black straw sun-hat. She didn't notice his eyes burning holes in her decaf soy latte, she was too busy being a mindless corporate slave. She looked around a couple of times, her too shiny to be naturally auburn hair glinting almost painfully in the light. Soul had to blink a couple of times to soothe his dazzled eyes.

"Penny for your thoughts," Maka said, nudging him out of his head and into the real world. "Even though it looks like you're plotting murder."

"Huh?" Soul shook his head. "Oh, right."

The unnaturally red-haired woman took a sip of her subpar coffee, shuddered and promptly tossed it in the trash, walking away from it without a trace of regret. Maybe she wasn't all that bad. Or else it was the dregs, which were nobody's favourite part of a hot beverage anyway. She stepped away from the garbage can and brushed off her hands, peeling off her stylish gloves- an accessory rather unsuited to the desert climate.

"Earth to Soul? Hello? I know people watching is the best part of these seats, but we should at least judge people's unconvincing dye jobs together."

Soul raised a hand to his own unconventionally coloured hair self-consciously. Could he put up his hood in a subtly cool way? What was he doing? He was wearing a t-shirt. He didn't have a hood he could try pulling up to hid his stupidly coloured hair. And even if he did, Maka'd already seen his hair like a thousand times.

Maka shook her head at him, smiling softly, and reached up to take his hand again, the one he'd so rudely ripped from her grasp in order to panic about his hair. She laced their fingers together again, with far less fumbling than the first time they'd attempted such a maneuver.

Anya moved between them and placed a glass jar filled with tea and a large coffee mug on the table, followed by one of Tsubaki's to-die-for carrot cake cupcakes. Soul had never had a Deathbucks coffee in a mug before. It was a floral mug, and Soul found himself both surprised and relieved that there was no giraffe print adorning it. Anya politely hoped that they'd enjoy their drinks and told them to holler if they needed anything. Apparently she was the only one who could be counted upon to behave in a professional and courteous manner, while the other baristas stared shamelessly at them.

"The others are downright useless at the minute," Anya huffed. "So don't bother trying to get them to do anything."

Soul snapped a quick photo of the drinks, the lighting was beautiful and if he angled it right, you couldn't tell there was a Starbucks anywhere near the photo. Maka waiting patiently while he took before snatching her jar of sweet tea. Drops of condensation pooled around her fingers and she took a long slow drink.

Soul stared at her mouth tugging around the straw for a long before ducking his head and pulling his own drink to him. He had to get his head out of the gutter. Not that he could boast that his head had ever been wholly clear or screwed on straight when Maka was around. He mostly came out of their interactions praying that he hadn't seemed like a complete idiot. Then again, she hung out with Black Star on a regular basis, so she was probably used to more than her fair share of idiocy.

Soul took a drink of his coffee. It tasted like honey, vanilla and cinnamon, and a few other things he couldn't quite place. The overall effect was sweet and heady, more than a little intoxicating. A another sip brought to his attention the sharp taste of alcohol, muted by all the other flavours. Brandy? Had Patti tipped a measure of brandy into his coffee?

He glanced over his shoulder at Patti. A picture of feigned innocence, she was whistling, if he was not mistaken, Afrodisiac. She winked at him. He blushed a darker red, taking another draught of his spiked coffee, trying to look menacing as he squinted at her. Patti mouthed something at him, but now was the time for his lip reading to fail him- it was probably something about the fact that she was now terrified that he'd murder her and her sister in their sleep. He found him hoping that she had tipped a large measure of brandy in his drink, he'd need it to be able to have a date with the entire coffee shop staring at them.

Liz arrived, something that didn't escape Soul's notice, she shrugged off an expensive coat before sitting down with Kidd and flagging down Patti frantically for a coffee. She joined in with the others in staring at him and Maka. Soul could feel her hard, gunmetal blue eyes boring holes into the back of his head and resisted the urge to look around and make a face at her.

Soul turned back to Maka, would was pulling chunks off the muffin and taking more than her fair share of the cream cheese frosting.

"Hey!" Soul protested. "Don't eat the whole thing."

"Why not?"

"Well, I wanted some," Soul broke away a piece, and tried to scrape some sweet cream cheese frosting on to it before it was all gone. "Don't be greedy, fatass."

Maka snorted. Even he had to admit that was pretty weak, seeing as she could probably bench press him and his entire family. His entire extended Catholic Italian family.

"So Soul, tell me about yourself," Maka said, around a mouthful of muffin.

"You already know everything."

Mostly.

All the important things.

"Yeah, well, tell me again, first date and all that jazz."

"Uh, alright," Soul cleared his throat. He kept and eye on where her free hand was trying to creep over to the muffin. She was counting on him to talk about himself for long enough that she could eat the whole thing. "I'm Soul Evans. I'm twenty-seven, I'm a florist, and I like to knit. I have one brother and no sisters- can I stop yet?"

"No," she popped another piece of the coveted dessert into her mouth. Soul clenched his hand against his jeans.

"Uh, I have a cat with really short legs. He likes to ride around on my shoulder, it's pretty uncool," Soul said, quickly aware that kind of shit was what viral videos were made of. Distant alarms were wailing. "Okay, it's definitely your turn."

He grabbed a piece of muffin before she could ask him any questions. She looked like she was going to anyway, but Soul waved at her to go on, making out that his mouth was too full of delicious carrot-cake muffin goodness to attempt conversation.

"I'm Maka Albarn. I'm twenty-six, I own a second-hand bookstore, and I like to read," Maka rattled off. She could probably say the same thing in about five different languages without missing a beat, Soul realized. Maybe ten. "I'm an only child and- Death, Soul I think Starbucks is on fire!"

She pointed frantically across the street, at the same time as she pulled him off his stool. It wobbled, but settled just as they reached the door. Maka hauled it open, and it crashed loudly against the wall. Chalk dust drifted it off the door, and Maka used it as a springboard, smudging Patti's rendition of a hippopotamus. Soul stumbled after her, nearly falling while she calmly wiped her hand clean, leaving a pale coloured smudge across her skirt.

"What?" Soul pulled out his phone and started filming. People were crowding around outside, and smoke was spilling out the open door. Not a whole lot of smoke, but still. Smoke. "Shit, fuck-"

The rest of the coffee shop- four baristas, a shrewd business woman and a best-selling hide-in-plain-sight anonymous novelist- rushed outside to join them. A strange combination of glee and panic radiated from them. The smoke coming from Starbucks was getting thicker, and the alarm was wailing. Glancing up and down the street, Soul could see that most of the shop owners and their customers congregated on the street to observe the spectacle of Starbucks on fire.

The footage Soul captured was shaking but showed the sluggish grey smoke clearly enough. There was no mistaking what it was, at any rate. He was about to get a sweeping pan of the amassed crowds looking as though they had very mixed feelings about this turn of events, when Maka yelled at him for filming.

"Soul call the fire department!"

"Maka, I am filming this for prosperity!" and Wes. Wes would want to see this. it was his shop after all. "Everyone's already outside, I'm sure someone called nine-one-one-"

"Soul, it's called the Bystander Effect!" Maka tugged the phone out of his hands and shut off the recording before dialing. "Google it sometime!"

"Maka!" Soul whined. He grabbed at his phone. How was he supposed to follow her googling instructions if she wouldn't give him his phone? "Why can't you use your phone?"

She didn't answer. Probably because she was talking to the emergency dispatcher, but hopefully because she'd misplaced or broken it in some amusing or embarrassing fashion. He'd ask her about it later, if he remembered. He doubted that he would, he was too busy savoring the fact that Starbucks, the Starbucks leasing his brother's real estate opportunity.

Soul turned back to the scene across the road, noting the green aproned student baristas wringing their hands nervously while trying to come off as reassuring to the handful of evacuated customers. Soul squinted across the street, if he had to make a guess, he'd say that the customers consisted of a couple on an awkward first date, attempting to play the fire off as something that wasn't a horrible omen for their budding relationship, and an aspiring writer with a cigarette tucked behind his ear clutching a PC to his chest like his works about complicated middle class white boys coming of age were more important than his very life. Soul was so sure that the world needed another book about that.

Maka was still on the phone. Soul knew that dispatchers were supposed to stay on the phone until the dispatchee arrived at the scene, to provide comfort to the caller. Maka looked like she'd rather that protocol wasn't in place. One of the Starbucks baristas had burst into tears and looked like she needed to be on the phone with a comforting dispatcher. Soul sighed, and taking a moment to glance both ways, crossed the road. He waved at Maka to follow him. He sure as hell wasn't going into this on his own. He didn't want to make everything worse than it already appear to be.

She was much better at this than he was. Everyone was much better at this sort of thing than he was. He'd gone into that before in greater detail, but the fat still stood that he was doing a really shit job of making this poor girl feel any better about the fact that her job was experiencing a minor fire.

"Hey, uh, it'll be alright, the fire's not that bad," Soul offered. He looked at Maka over her the crying girl's shoulder. "And the fire people are on the way?"

Maka nodded. and held up four fingers. Four minutes. Right. He could do this. That was what? One pop song? He could spend a whole pop song with this girl without exacerbating the situation.

"The fire people are on the way," Soul repeated, cringing. "Is everyone out?"

"I think so," she sniffled, mascara running. "I mean I don't know for sure, but there weren't that many people and I don't even know how it started and I'm supposed to be the supervisor but, like, my old Starbucks never caught fire and I'm so going to be fired and where am I going to get a job with healthcare?"

"Uh," Soul swallowed. He squinted at her name tag. "I'm sure you're not going to be fired, Louise. It's not your fault."

She threw her arms around him, clinging and sobbing like she'd be rescued from a burning building. Not you know, calmly evacuated a building in which there happened to be a small fire. Soul froze briefly, before patting her on the back in what he hoped was a comforting manner, and that the uncomfortable and stiff thing was just him. He tried to loosen his shoulders, to no avail. He could hear Maka trying not to laugh at him. She wasn't trying very hard, at all. She took a moment to compose herself, hanging up over the dispatcher's protests that she was hysterical, and moved to talk to one of the other baristas, who was handling the situation much better.

"Like, I don't know why Louise is so upset-" Soul overheard, even he couldn't help but notice the receding panic in her voice. "-just because someone like, started a fire in the trash can in bathroom, like right beside where the cleaning supplies were. I was just in there, and there was like, zero fire. It couldn't have been like that bad. It's not like there was a bomb or anything. I could've totally put it out with like, the extinguisher but she said it wasn't like, safe."

Louise wailed louder, clutching at Soul. He glared at the barista who had spoken, she was making this far harder than it needed to be. He rubbed what he hoped were soothing circles into Louise's back, and made soft noises in his throat like she was a spooked horse. She loosened her grip, fractionally. Soul could feel the tip of his ears burning under the high midday sun. He hated being sunburnt. It was so bad for his skin.

"You, uhm, did the right thing Louise, lots of cleaners and things are flammable," Soul said. He cringed again, and redoubled his efforts at rubbing soothing circles. It seemed to have some small positive effect of her. "It'll be alright."

The fire brigade pulled up, and Soul could tell Liz was goggling. He could hear her and Patti making lewd remarks that weren't half as quiet as they were hoping. But maybe that was the point. Soul didn't know why you'd oogle firemen hurrying into put out a small fire. He understood the fireman calendar thing, but what was really attractive about a guy wrapped in that many layers? Did they have abs? Probably, but you don't know for sure.

The firemen, without concern for their own safety. rushed heroically into the blaze.

Well. Mild bathroom fire with the potential to become serious owing to nearby cleaning supplies.

Maka wandered over to where Louise was still clinging to Soul and tucked his phone into his back pocket. Soul tried to de-tatch himself from the sniffling superviser, struggling a bit while she clung to his shirt. She was gripping his arm tightly, her sharp nails digging into his skin. They had nothing on Oni's demon claws though, so he could deal with that for a little while anyway.

Soul made frantic eye contact with Maka, who appeared to be too busy enjoying him struggle to help him. He resorted to hooking his hands under her arms and lifting her bodily away from him just as a man dressed as a firefighter - probably a firefighter, but possibly a passing stranger who happened to be dressed as a firefighter - arrived to ask her some questions. Soul tried to discreetly step away, but found that Louise had somehow managed to transfer her vice grip to his hand.

Soul sighed and looked to the firefighter, hoping from something he could tell Wes. It was better to make the best of an awkward and uncomfortable situation involving fire, his family and his sworn enemy.

"Miss?"

Louise nodded, tearfully.

"We've put out the fire, but it's probably best if you close for the rest of the day and let it air out, before getting someone in to fix up the bathroom," the fireman had a slow reassuring voice. Soul felt safe listening to him, and he could see Louise gravitating towards him. She loosened her grip on his hand. If Soul wasn't mistaken, he might even have some blood flow back in his fingers. "The damage is limited, but the floor'll have to come up if you want to get rid of that melted plastic from the bin and the cleaning supplies."

"Do you know what caused it?" Soul asked. "My brother owns the property."

Louise had the good grace to look as though that had piqued her curiousity when Soul mentioned that, even if she followed it up with a doubtful expression. She did both of these thing tearfully, eyes still shining and mascara smudged to that ideal panda bear look.

"Oh, probably a cigarette. We'll send your brother out a report, don't worry about that," the fireman didn't bother questioning Soul's story. Soul knew that Wes was his brother and the owner of this building, but even to him and definitely to Louise it seemed unlikely to be the truth. "It probably started because of the papers in the trash and the cleaning stuff. The boys reckon some of the tissues were used to clean up and had some of the surface cleaner soaked in 'em, which sparked the fire in a bad way. We'll send someone over today to have a proper look at it later though, just to be safe."

"Oh, I'd just sent Jen in to clean up, some woman had knocked over her perfume-it was all over the floor! She was trying to clean it up with the toilet paper when Jen went in," Louise said, much more cheerfully that before. "There was glass everywhere, but it smelled so nice… It perfume flammable? It was an expensive one too, and it was nearly full."

"That'd do the job."

"That was it? A cigarette?" _And convenient cleaning supplies? A bottle of perfume? An auburn haired woman who needed a better colourist with expensive taste? Who didn't appear over fond of Starbucks coffee?_ "Nothing else suspicious? Nothing strike you as odd?"

"I don't think there's any real cause for concern, doesn't look like it was done on purpose," the fireman shrugged. "Sweet of you to worry about your girlfriend like that though. Like I said, we'll send someone over to do a formal report, you'll need it to claim back on the insurance."

"We're not-" Soul hastened to correct, only to be beaten to the punch.

"He's _not_ her boyfriend," Maka growled possessively. She was glaring daggers at Louise, who Soul noticed, had not attempted to correct that misinformation on the status of their relationship. Louise relinquished her hold on Soul, and took a few steps back for good measure. Soul could hear her whisper "Sorry!" at Maka, ignoring him completely.

The fireman stepped back, looking like he wasn't ready to open that can of worms in any way shape or form.

"Well alright then, I'll leave you to it," he tipped his helmet politely. His visor bumped off his nose, but he didn't seem bothered by it. Maybe he was used to the sensation. Louise looked as though she had completely forgotten that Soul even existed in the first place.

"Thanks for all your help!" Louise chirped, but her face fell as he moved away, climbing back into the fire truck. She clapped her hands brightly and started dictating to her baristas to take the rest of the day off, and offered each of her costumers a giftcard. Liz, ever the opportunist, swooped in and offer the 'traumatized' Starbucks customers a free tea or coffee to settle themselves.

Louise trying not to scowl at her, somehow acquiring a cheerful outlook on life despite the fact that her panda eyes evidenced that she'd been sobbing, inconsolable, in someone;s arms mere moments ago.

Soul was trying to figure out if sending Wes the brief video he'd managed to capture was worth it when Maka gripped his arm and tugged him away from Louise. She started dragging him back across the road to Deathbucks, following Liz and her collection of disenfranchised Starbucks customers. Soul hoped Maka was looking where she was going because he was definitely too busy texting Wes about what happened when you lease your shop to Starbucks to watch out for something as insignificant as cars.

This'd teach him not to lease his shop to just anyone.

The Starbucks customers were all huddled around a table, looking around like they were terrified of their new surroundings. The writer glared across the room at Kidd, threatened by the presence of another creative mind. Kidd, for his part, didn't seem to have noticed the appearance of three new customers, instead choosing only to wave at Soul without looking up. Kidd must have gone outside and simply glanced at the billowing smoke before deciding that it didn't interest him and returning to his writing.

Maka and Soul returned to their seats and their waiting drinks. He could tell from the faint stinging sensation that his ears were burnt and the top of his cheekbones too, if he wasn't mistaken. He needed that spiked coffee more than ever. Soul's coffee had grown colder than he liked and the ice part of Maka's iced tea had melted, watering down the flavour significantly. She drank it anyway, unfazed by the watery taste. The carrot cake was still good, so there was that.

"Where you jealous?" Soul asked.

"Pfft, no," Maka stirred her watery tea and avoided meeting his eyes.

"You were jealous!"

"A bit," Maka admitted. "You are my date after all."

"That was easier than I thought it was going to be."

"I'm an adult, I can admit my personal failings."

Soul cocked an eyebrow at her.

"If I think they might seem endearing in your eyes."

"Just my eyes?" Soul waggled his eyebrows, quietly appreciating whatever combination of genes had granted him such dexterous and expressive brows.

"Well, put it this way," Maka started. "Imagine, that in first grade, you told Black Star you weren't very good at basketball..."

Soul nodded sagely. Never admit weakness to Black Star, it was one of the unwritten rules of life. But there were many of those, so Soul did not blame Maka for her ignorance, especially at such a young age.

"Fast forward two decades, and do you think he'll let me play basketball with him?" Maka asked.

Soul wished Black Star had, he might've met Maka sooner.

"I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm still awful, but I don't know for sure because he won't let me play!" Maka pouted. "Like, he could at least let me be on the other team, I know he doesn't want me 'dragging him down' but I think saying that 'it'd be no fun to kick someone's ass that hard' is a little too far."

"Ouch."

"It is hurtful," Maka said. "I thought about practising loads so that he'd have to acknowledge me, but I guess it just wasn't my thing… I could never get into it, really."

"You could play with me some time," Soul offered. "I promise I'll go easy on you."

"Don't you dare," Maka warned, her eyes glinting dangerously.

Soul just grinned, baring his teeth for the world to see. Maka smiled in response, her neat and even teeth a stark contrast to his own teeth.

"Come on, we should probably get back to work," Maka said. She sighed like she'd rather do anything else, but also like given recent events she wanted to make sure that her shop had caught fire in her absence. Her shop was basically two stories of tinder with walls, but Soul sincerely doubted that her shop would've caught fire in her absence. No one's business was directly threatened by her bookstore the same way as Starbucks threatened certain, unnamed, upstanding local businesses run by smart women with questionable pasts. "I think that was enough excitement for one day."

"I'll walk you home."

She slipped her hand into his, cold from the the tea jar. He decided that he liked having her hand there, and hoped that it became a regular thing. The walk to the bookstore wasn't long, especially considering the fact that it was just next door to Deathbucks. Soul squinted up at the ornate sign, still unable to decipher it, even though it had been well over two months. It was, he'd figured out, symmetrical, which led to some serious fuckery with the letters. He'd only figured it out because Kidd had gone on a three minute tangent on the subject once. He'd get there one day.

"So, this is me," Maka said, thumbing up at the illegible sign. She let go of his hand.

"Yep," Soul rocked on his heels, digging his hands into his pockets.

"And you know, I uh, heard somewhere, that after dates, sometimes people, y'know, kiss." Maka said, off-handedly. "Can you believe that?"

"You know, I think I read that on the internet the other day," Soul said.

"Maybe we should-"

And they did.

 **Please R &R**


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The ceremony had gone off without a hitch. At least, that's what Soul assumed.

At any rate, the flowers had looked great.

Angela, the flowergirl had swung the pomander enthusiastically, but it had held together (until she had started beating her father around the head with it) while both brides had followed, holding hands and pointedly looking away from each other, blushes glowing through the thin gauzy material of Jackie's more traditional veil and the heavy hanging hood that obscured Kim's face.

Neither had any family present, and Soul was to learn that even Angela - who he'd been told was Kim's niece - was really just her neighbour's daughter, the neighbour being a tall thin pale haired man, who Black Star would later attempt to start a fight with, multiple times. Mifune, the neighbour, would never dignify this requests, insisting it was neither the time nor the place. Soul was grateful for this, Mifune radiated a quiet sort of power, the kind that made Soul question, for the first time, if Black Star would've emerged victorious.

Ox, the basketball player who Soul had finally deciphered the name of, had looked uncomfortable carrying a bouquet, but Harvar had pulled it off with his usual level 'I can make anything look cool just fucking watch me. This propeller hat? Cool. This bedsheet toga? Cool.' Jackie's third bridesmaid, a shy woman unfortunately named Eternal Feather had coped well with meeting everyone invited, despite the fact that she was and old school friend of Jackie's and that most of the guests were people she'd never met before. Kim's squad of barista bridesmaids had blushed and cooed at all the right times, Meme albeit with some elbowing from Tsugumi and Anya as a cue.

They'd had their hands bound together with thick red ribbon, and jumped over the roasting pit, the whole pig on a spit removed for the leap. Jackie's long conservative dress had been singed, but Kim's tea length gown had been spared. They'd kissed then, long and hard and enthusiastic, to more cheers and whoops than Soul had expected.

But it seemed like the entirety of Caberallo Street had been invited, Starbucks having declined politely. It was too busy renovating the bathroom to open, never mind attend weddings.

Then the wine was broken out, and the food and a playlist that seemed several hours long, halved by arrival and subsequent exit of a band that played in Carter and Ghost sometimes, but all that had been several hours ago at this point, and Soul didn't even feel heavy from food anymore- who knew pig on a spit was so good?

He was still wearing a corsage Maka had made him- it was looking a little worse for wear and it had little merit in terms of design, but her's was holding up as beautifully as it looked. That is to say, very well. She was talking to Black Star, or it seemed, restraining him from clocking Ox. she did not seem particularly thrilled by the task, looking instead like she'd prefer to clock him herself.

It was difficult to tell.

Her back was to him, and, seeing as she'd worn a backless dress, what a back it was. The lean musculature and soft curve of her spine were illuminated by the soft glowing flames of the fire pit and the tall torches that were driven into the thick, dry clay of the desert. The bright colours were muted by the night and you couldn't read the lyrics scrawled across her spine. Her hair was glowing orange, falling out of the once elaborate updo while Black Star struggled to free himself from her hold and the soft lace blue of her dress had transformed into a darker shade when the sun had set, hours ago.

She handed Black Star off to Tsubaki, who placated him with a pint glass of a clear liquid. Soul hoped, for everyone's sake, that it was water. She turned around and grinned at him, waving. He blushed and looked down, eager not to make contact with those green eyes after having a glass of wine in recent memory.

She padded over to him, feet tucked into flats, heels long since abandoned.

"You want to dance?" she smiled at him, teeth bright in the dimly lit night. Her eyes flashed, and Soul cast an eye to the heavens before hoping that everyone would be too drunk to remember seeing him agree to this. He grinned down at her, because she seemed so little in that moment.

"Why not?" Soul shrugged, taking her proffered hand. "S'not like anyone can see us."

He'd regret this statement at a later date, when Kim passed him a photo of him looking so lost in a pair of too green eyes he wasn't sure he'd ever come up for air, but right now her hand was soft and warm and in his and they turned slowly to the music.

 **I'm posting this now and going to sleep. that sweet embrace of sleep. I'm honestly not sure of the literary merits of this at all, but then I remind myself that it doesn't really have to be, but I enjoyed writing it, and if anyone manages to have enjoyed reading it a quarter so much as I have writing it, I'll consider it a marked success.**

 **Please R &R.**


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